odi et amo (Of Love and Hate) by Heidi

Part One

Daylight faded, gradually replaced by the cloak of night. Lamplight spilled out the windows onto the boardwalk or mutely shone from behind curtains, accompanied by the street fires to provide minimal illumination along the quiet street. Crickets chirped, and mosquitoes roamed for their nightly feedings on the unwary. Laughter from the saloon added to the night's music. The atmosphere was relaxed for a change.

It had been a long, grueling period on the western frontier town, especially with the transient trail hands finally - and mercifully - leaving town after a two-week stay. All seven protectors had been on duty nearly the entire time in three or four person shifts. It showed in their cranky dispositions, frayed tempers, and even less than cordial attitudes. A pack of wild coyotes had better manners, or so Ezra intoned quite often. With the last of the trail hands gone, relief flooded not only the protectors, but also the entire town. Although business had been good, the continual fights and drunken behavior was not what the majority of townsfolk wanted to see everyday. They watched enough violence when criminals, thugs, and gangs all too frequently challenged their protectors.

Now, they - townsperson and protector alike - reveled in the fragile, however long-lived peace.

Larabee gave the protectors the night off, including himself, and they partook of spirits without the strict moderation of the past fourteen torturous days. Staying sober or mostly sober was not so enjoyable when closely observing grown men get drunk and stupid, then fight. Some already had perfected stupid, but the addition of alcoholic beverages increased their idiocy. Two weeks of morons flown with liquor while unable to get intoxicated themselves brought many a complaint from a parched protector's throat. This night, the seven had pursued their respective interests, and most of them were still in the saloon.

Chris grew tired of the stuffiness, and, he privately admitted, intensely weary of the saloon's interior. He'd memorized the number of floor planks, cracks in the ceiling, and the slats on the batwing doors. He wanted some air, preferably without the potent tinges of whiskey, sweaty bodies, and spilled beer. Not that the horse-and-manure, smoke scented air outside the batwing doors cleared his lungs, but it was sweeter and less confining than the stifled saloon atmosphere. He strode down the boardwalk, coming to a stop near the mouth of a side street.

Leaning against one of the posts, his fingers, with practiced ease, lit a cheroot. The first taste immediately calmed him. That brief serenity only lasted a moment. Chris sensed someone coming out of the alley toward him, the swish of fabric rubbing together alerting him to the approach. He came out of his lean, shifted more into the shadows, and stared hard into the darkness. One hand pushed his black duster to the side, and his right hand dropped to rest atop his gun. Mentally, he prepared himself for the worst, unable to see much in the dim abyss.

"That you, Chris Larabee? If it is, it's been a long time, and you’re a welcome sight for travel-weary eyes," the voice said, walking into the light of a nearby ground fire. "And you’re smoking. Even better. May I?"

For a man that very little truly surprised or ruffled, recognition of that voice jolted him. It had been a long time, and it was a voice he never expected to hear in his lifetime again. Most definitely not coming in such a pleasant tone, accompanied by the request. Smirking to cover his shock, his hand slid away from the gun and passed the cheroot.

Caroline Jamison was an old, special friend - a former flame. He remembered reluctantly teaching her to smoke long ago, after growing tired of her constant arguments and pleadings to do so. Figuring on her getting sick and quitting, he was surprised when she liked and readily took to it. Chris finally replied to her earlier comment, "Too long. How are you, Caro?" He intentionally called her by her nickname, one he earned the privilege of using, and lightness entered his heart at the happy memories it brought. Her reaction to it would tell him more about how she felt toward him.

Her slim fingers brought the cheroot to her lips, and her eyes closed with pleasure while she inhaled the smoke. "Good, thank you. And you?" She passed it back.

"Better now. Your shoulder?" His eyes roamed down from her face, over her neck, and paused on the left side above her breast. Memories of the worst kind returned in a rush, his face displaying his anguish as he recalled how she got injured and his responsibility for it. The guilt returned full force, chasing away the lightness of seconds ago.

She must have read the reaction on his face in the dim lighting. "Fine. Healed up real well," she replied. Giving him a hard look, Caroline added, "It wasn't your fault."

He reached out tentatively to touch her face, pausing before he made contact. "It was."

Her hand pulled his to the side of her face and neck. She rubbed her cheek against his palm. "No. Don't blame yourself for that."

His fingers splayed into her hair, sliding under the dark colored bonnet into the light brown curls. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered. Remembering brought back what happened, the reason he left her, and the guilt.

The last time they met, not too many months before Chris found himself here, he'd been staying in a bustling frontier town and seeing Caroline. She was the first decent woman he found himself drawn to, since the death of his wife. The more time he spent with the young widow, the more he felt his personality reverting to his former self instead of the angry man searching for revenge he became.

Like Four Corners was now, that small town suffered from growing pains, and saw its share of trouble makers. The bad element lingered while the decent folk of the town would have been glad to see them move on. The town's sheriff, while leery of him at first, accepted his presence because his fearsome reputation actually helped quell some of the rowdier members of the town. That reputation, though, brought him a ton of troubles and the loss of the well being he was just beginning to feel. He got involved in a stupid gunfight with an eighteen-year-old cocksure kid who wouldn't back down. Larabee, forced into the duel by his already fearsome reputation and outnumbered by the thieves and cutthroats occupying the rougher town, shot to wound. Honor satisfied, the clear winner of the duel, he turned his back on the kid and walked away.

The kid wouldn't let it go, not realizing the gift of life and mercy he had been granted, that probably would not have been granted prior to Caroline's influence. Later that night, he tailed Chris to Caroline's little house. He broke in, skulked to her darkened bedroom, and emptied his gun into her bed. Startled and unable to see much in the black room, Chris grabbed his gun and fired back blind. He'd killed the kid, but Caroline paid the price. One of the kid's bullets struck her high on the left shoulder during the initial barrage, nearly killing her.

Having roused the town with both gunfire and his yells for help, Larabee discovered there was no doctor. Holding the injured woman in his grip, Chris rode hard for the nearest town that reportedly had a doctor. Fortunately, the doctor was there, and Larabee spent the last hours of the night outside her room. He claimed her as his wife, hoping to salvage her respectability. Once she was on the road to recovery the next morning, the truth caught up with them in the form of the law. The sheriff of the town they'd left belatedly started asking questions over the incident, egged on by Caroline's sister-in-law. Since he wired his counterpart in their current location with all the details and request for more information, it wasn’t long before the gossips spread their rumors, with their counterparts taking care of the previous town too.

That night's events branded Caroline Jamison a loose woman, who was no longer a respectable lady. She had been informed that she was no longer welcome at her previous residence, unless she wanted to be the whore they branded her during her absence. The young widow was ostracized by her townsfolk and kin, all of whom turned righteous about her entertaining a man in her bedroom. This frenzy, fueled by Caroline's bitter and mean sister-in-law, forced her to sell her house and leave the town she called home; neither she nor Chris wanted Caroline to work that way. When she was sufficiently recovered from her wound, Larabee helped her pack and move. His presence - along with his gun - kept the hostile townsfolk at bay. Once he saw her settled in a town they thought would give her enough space from the rumors, they parted company. Neither talked of picking up the relationship again.

Shaking off the memory, seeing her staring at him waiting, his fingers still in her hair, he asked, "What brings you here?"

"Well, I got lost." She ruefully chuckled. "Ended up here, of all places. And who do I see on my way to the hotel for a room but my dear friend Chris Larabee?"

"You always had problems with directions," he teased. Chris untangled his hand from her hair and offered an arm. "Allow me to escort you to the hotel so you don't get lost."

"I would be delighted," she replied, resting a hand on the crook of his elbow. "If that's where you want me to go. Seeing you relights the fires."

In response, he lifted a questioning eyebrow. Chris thought he saw a look he believed he'd never receive from her again, but he wasn't sure. He'd caused enough pain in her life, and planned to play it cautious.

"You heard me, Chris. I really don't want to stay in a hotel, and now that I've seen you, I might have other…options.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Chris read the silent question and could almost feel the waves of desire. It had been like this before with them, hot and intense. Perhaps if they would have stopped to think about consequences then, things might have been different. Like then neither one thought of them now.

“You're going to think me forward, but do you have a woman here?" Caroline smiled.

Chris smirked. "Nope." He pulled her into a kiss. She settled into his chest, kissing him back with equal passion.

His mind blocked out the image of Mary, their friendship still shaky because of that business with Ella Gaines.

Eventually, Caroline pulled back. Her eyes deliberately flicked left to right. "Can I interest you in going somewhere a bit more private? People will talk, you know."

He knew. In fact, that was one of the reasons he was such a private man – the consequences, innuendos, and rumors about his involvement with Caroline reminded him about the destructive power of words.

"I think I know somewhere." Giving a look around, he saw empty streets, and no one was watching them. It was too late at night for the proper folk to be up, and too early for the carousers to go to bed. His first thought was to get her to his room in town, but then he remembered the rumormongering, and opted for his place. Pissing off the locals by flaunting a woman and having everyone know his business didn't appeal to him, so he'd take Caroline to his shack. Plus, he wouldn't ruin her reputation any farther if she planned to stay here for a spell. Getting caught kissing in the street was more Buck's style, not his. "You object to a ride?"

She winked. "That's what I had in mind. A long, hard, rough ride, and maybe a gentle canter later."

Chris chuckled. "A short horse ride to my place," he qualified. "Bareback comes later."

"How exciting. Will I abandon this modern paradise that pays homage to the patron saint of Dust? Absolutely."

Leaning forward, his lips brushed hers quickly. "Meet me at the stable." Letting her go, he whacked her backside. "Move."

"Don't take your time, Chris Larabee. I might not be there if you dally. I'm sure there are other young men in this here town. You just happened to be the first one I saw."

Her comment gave him pause, but he gave her an arrogant smile. "You'll wait for me, woman, and we both know it."

"Maybe." She sashayed down the boardwalk toward the stable, keeping to the shadows, without looking back.

As he watched her, he tried to remember if she’d always been so forward, or had the association with him made her so? Darkly, his thoughts drifted to Ella, knowing how forward she had been and wondered that maybe it was just him drawn to that type of woman. Pulling his eyes away from the swing of her hips, Chris strode back to the saloon. He found Vin first, stopping beside him at the bar. "In case anyone needs me, I'm going to my place for a few days."

"Mind some company? Town's getting a bit confining."

Chris considered. If he told Vin he was taking a woman out there, Tanner wouldn't say a word to anyone, and would come out himself if they needed him back. But if he didn't give the impression he didn't want visitors, one or more of them would stop by during every patrol, several times a day, for a break and some coffee. That he didn't want. It would make things awkward for Caroline. Giving the impression he wanted a couple days alone would be best all around, and wouldn't put Vin in the position where he would have to keep the truth from their friends. "Maybe in a few days. Got some things I want to work on, work out myself."

Vin stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded.

The gunslinger was relieved. He knew Vin suspected there was something more, but respected his friend's privacy enough not to ask. Part of him was disgusted at himself for hiding Caroline because he knew Vin could be trusted, but Chris didn't know if she wanted anyone to know she was here. "Come out in a few days."

"Reckon I might. Watch your back."

"Always. You do the same."

Tanner lifted his glass in response, sipping his beer.

Leaving the saloon, Chris made his way to the stable, finding Caroline beside her unsaddled horse. He went in, brought his black out, and saddled him without waking the stable master.

"You mind if we ride double, Chris? Daisy's tired. We rode most of today, and spent a considerable time lost."

"Nope." After tying Daisy's lead to his saddle horn, he mounted, pulling Caroline up behind him. Her arms latched around his waist, and they were off. His horse knew the path, and Chris kept an eye out for dangers. He quickly realized they needed to pick up their pace, especially because Caroline's hands kept a steady rhythm sliding down from his waist to the tops of his thighs. Her body pressed tight against his back and she nibbled on his neck, giving him chills that were not due to the weather.

The rest of the ride worked them both into a heightened state, neither allowing the other a break in their adult games. Bowlegged, Chris tended the horses by rote, and turned around to find Caroline on a blanket spread beneath the stars.

That was all the invitation he needed.

+ + + + + + +

Somehow, later in the night, they had found the bed, and their sated bodies now rested. Coherent thought slowly returned, and Chris wondered at his good fortune. She was dozing, a light hint of purple shadowed beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, but her expression satisfied and happy. He didn’t move, and didn’t want to wake her.

Having women in his bed wasn't common, but it wasn’t unusual. Like his friend Buck, he liked women, appreciated them, and was fortunate that he didn’t have to live like a monk. Unlike his friend though, Chris preferred discretion, not boasting of his rendezvous with the ladies. He’d had his share of women since he’d learned what to do and how things worked, but there were only three that he’d given any serious time. The first was Ella, who made him feel wild and free, and then tried to own him. Leaving her was hard, but meeting Sarah taught him what true love really was. She wasn’t shy, having her own amount of sass, but she had sweetness and didn’t try to change him. She was the one he offered marriage to and felt the luckiest man in the world when she said yes. He couldn’t have been happier through all the years they had together. Then his heart was ripped into shreds when he lost not only his wife but his son as well.

Chris closed his eyes, pushing away the pain that always came whenever he thought about them. After they were…gone…he’d given up the softer emotions. He thought he’d never feel any emotion every again, only seeing women for physical release, or someone beside him so he wouldn’t wake up alone from the nightmares. Vicious and unrelenting, he dreamed of what he did not see - the burning, dying, last gasps of his wife and child, and what he did find - their charred bodies in the remains of his home, finally burying them in the ground forever.

Somehow, in the darkness he slowly emerged from, Chris found himself in a town, just like any other, and met a woman that reminded him of a cross between Ella and Sarah. She had the wildness of Ella hidden under layers of propriety, but a touch of Sarah’s sweetness. His mind recalled the short time he spent with Caroline, and how much of an impact she made in his life. Along with how much he made on hers, most of it negative. He wondered what brought her here, and why she was so forgiving.

Holding her, with all the endearments she whispered to him earlier, felt right. After finding out how truly vile Ella was, and the bitterness of loss, he was ready to give up on women completely, except for their obvious uses. Mary piqued his interest, but he wasn't sure how he felt. She was headstrong, stubborn, and things got complicated around her. Complications, something he wasn't sure he wanted in his life, compounded by his injuries from Ella. Mary's silent condemnation, although somewhat healed over, still was close enough to the surface to cause tension – and complications.

But now that Caroline was with him, maybe he would have to rethink things. She reminded him not all women were as calculating and cold as Ella. His arm tightened around her, and he pressed a kiss to her temple while she slept.

She gently stirred, trying to burrow deeper into him and the covers simultaneously.

"Caro," he said softly, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder. Maybe now he could get answers.

"Rest," she sleepily whined, snuggling into his naked chest.

"Talk," he suggested.

She sighed. "What?"

"Why?"

"You were there?" she replied, more question than answer.

"Nope. You haven't said why you came here."

"Personal business. It's almost over, and I'll be on my way home to wrap up some loose ends. Make a fresh start somewhere else. Maybe here."

"Where's home?" Interested, his fingers played with her hair while his green eyes studied her brown ones.

"Someplace nice and quiet. I've built a new life for myself, Chris. I couldn't have done it without you."

"All I did was bring you pain."

"Pain and love. That's a pretty potent combination."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Let's not forget sparks."

Chris teased, "Sparks? So many sparks that the birds might never recover their hearing."

Caroline softly struck his chest with her fist. "I wasn't the only one yelling."

Chris laughed and hugged her. "No."

"Seeing you is a good thing. I'm glad you were there."

He stayed silent, knowing there was more.

"I can tell you I'm doing really well. It was a little rough for a while, and I got run out of a dozen towns after you left. The story kept catching up with me."

"I'm sorry," Chris immediately said, with sorrow filling his tone. "I didn't mean for my reputation to ruin yours." He felt so responsible for that, which was another reason he stayed away from her. Their names were permanently linked as long as someone knew and spread the story, and the fact he never took her to wife made it even more damning.

"Shh, Chris. Everything's mostly worked out for me." She leaned up to kiss him. When they broke for air, Caroline smiled. "So what will we do today?"

"I have some ideas." His eyebrows bobbed with his grin, and his green eyes lit with mischief.

"After breakfast," she firmly told him.

"Can’t change your mind?"

"If you’re not going to let me rest, then we’ll eat and regain our strength." She pulled away, heading for his supply of food.

Chris smirked, rolling out of the bed. He grabbed his pants, pulled them on, and then his socks and boots. Stepping outside, he covered his eyes to block out the bright sun. Closing the door, he continued out to the corral, putting out food and water. Returning, he set the table, and then helped her serve the simple meal.

Their breakfast passed quietly, and they went for a ride before the noon meal. Chris showed off his property, and a few secluded spots. Having worked up an appetite, they frolicked in the afternoon sun, followed by an evening of pleasure.

+ + + + + + +

Chris woke, finding the bed empty. "Caro?" he called.

"Morning, sleepy," Caroline replied.

He sat up, finding her fully dressed. "How long have you been up?"

She smiled. "Long enough to feed the horses and cook your breakfast. Hungry?" Caroline carried a plate and mug over to him.

"Only a fool would turn down breakfast in bed."

"And you're no fool," Caroline finished for him. "I made you my special brew. Figured you might want to stay awake today."

Chris smirked. "And do what?" He accepted the plate and mug.

"I can think of a few things." Her shoulder lifted in a shrug, falling gently, before she stood again. "Go on, eat up."

"Coffee first." Sipping, the blond man tasted whiskey. His smile broadened. "I've always liked your coffee."

"Gets to the point, doesn't it?" Caroline cleaned up the breakfast dishes, all but the one in his other hand.

He remembered her cooking was good, and savored every bite. Before he realized it, the plate was clean, the mug empty. With a yawn, he realized he felt incredibly sleepy. Figuring the full meal did him in, he teased, "Thought you wanted me awake, feeding me all this, I think you’re trying to put me to sleep."

When she faced him, he knew something was wrong. Her eyes, normally full of warmth for him, had become unfocused, staring almost through him, and her form wavered. Fatigue swept through him, and he could barely hold himself up. "Caro?" Chris asked softly. "What?" The mug fell from his fingers, and the plate slid from his grasp. His eyes followed the movement down, mesmerized by the sight. Forcing himself, he looked up to see her by the door. Her hand held something very familiar - his gun, and she was pointing at him. "What's going on?"

"I found out the truth." Caroline's voice was hard and cold. "I know who committed murder."

His green eyes tried and failed to meet hers. "You found out who killed your husband?" He pressed a hand against the wall, trying to keep himself from falling backward. His limbs, heavy and unwieldy, were not responding to him.

"You killed my husband. Murdered him!" Her words were both an accusation and statement. "But that wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to destroy everything that he had touched. Found me, the grieving widow, and seduced me. Made me love you. Made me care for you, and then got me shot and ruined."

"Put that down. What the hell are you talking about?" There was nothing more dangerous in his mind than a woman with a gun, and since he taught her how to use it, that made her doubly dangerous. He also realized she had drugged him, a fact that came too late as he fought unconsciousness.

"My husband, Cyrus. I swore I'd find his killer. You murdered him, and you got away clean. Then you found me, used me, and ruined me. The only work I could find was on my back, all thanks to the self-proclaimed bad element Chris Larabee. No more. It's time for my revenge, a life for a life. Your life for his."

"Put…gun…down...talk," Chris said. His tongue weighed heavily in his mouth, thick and uncooperative. The room spun.

"I hate you, and damn us both, I still love you. Now I'll kill you." She fired.

Rolling, or trying to move away, he felt the bullet hit him mid-twist. Chris gritted his teeth. "Stop it, Caro!"

The gun went off again, pain bloomed in his shoulder, and then the door slammed.

“Caro?”

Breathing heavily, Chris tried to raise his head up to look around. His world was swirling, the light growing dim, but he knew she was gone. His hand trailed to his midsection and felt the wetness there. Holding it up in front of him, he focused on his hand now covered in red.

“Caro?” The name came out in a whisper, in a state of confusion, wondering what went wrong. The fell back down as all strength failed him. His eyes rolled back in his head and Chris slipped into darkness.

Part Two

She dropped the gun before she stumbled outside the door and ran toward the small barn. Through the bitterness and hate that had build up over the years, she didn’t think she would feel so much after exacting her revenge. As she hurriedly saddled her horse, she refused to think about the last few hours spent in the arms of the man she left bleeding to death on the cabin floor. Refused to think about the feelings he invoked once more. Refused to think about him, fearing her plans for revenge would be for naught and she’d run back in to help him, if he wasn’t dead already. With a sob, she led her horse out of the barn, leaving the door open for the other animals to roam.

Mounting Daisy, she turned the horse in the direction of the next closest town, figuring on getting a stage there for the long journey back to her real home. A home she made from the ashes of her life, leaving behind Caroline Jamison in the tenth town she'd been run out of because of Chris Larabee. She'd allow herself to deal with her emotions later.

She thought about her home, thinking if she was careful enough she could stay there a few days, before packing up once more and leaving for parts unknown and preferably, where no one could find her. Caroline knew she had to be careful, she didn’t think anyone had seen her with Chris the night before, or spotted her in town before that. She checked her dress again for bloodstains. Fortunately, she'd been far enough back that there weren't any splatters on her. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the look of confused shock on Chris Larabee's face. It was a sight that would probably stay with her the rest of her life. Maybe it matched the confused shocked look on her husband's face when he was forced into a duel with a drunken Chris Larabee and lost. She could only hope Cyrus was now at peace.

The woman who once - and still - loved Chris Larabee to ultimately betray him continued her ride, not feeling the warmth of the sun, nor the gait of her horse. Nor did she feel the stream of wet tears that fell slowly down her face.

+ + + + + + +

Pain.

His foggy mind roused, and his green eyes opened. Where was he? It took a moment to recognize his place, his shack. From the light and the heat, it had to be late in the day. Why was he here on the floor, and why did he hurt?

Chris tried to sit up, but the pain wouldn’t let him. He fell back moaning and breathing hard, trying to catch his breath as the room swam around him. He swallowed back the nausea and tried to lick his dry mouth, but found no relief for his thirst. Slowly, he brought his shaky hand up and stared at it. His blurred eyes saw the blood and he remembered.

Caro. She'd drugged him and shot him. He didn't know what hurt worse - his heart or his body. He trusted her, brought her here, and she betrayed him.

Bitch.

The heavy mists coating his brain started to lift, and Chris realized that he needed to do something about the gunshot wounds. He couldn't lift his neck too far, making things almost impossible for him to check. With great care he inched his way to the bed, having to stop several times as the pain almost overwhelmed him. Finally, he raised his hand and pulled the comforter down, finding even that small task almost beyond his strength.

He pressed the comforter down on his abdomen, groaning at the pain it caused. The nausea returned and he rolled to his side, breathing heavily. Now partially wrapped in the comforter, he felt himself fading. He didn’t want to die here, lying on the floor, shot with his own gun, if he could help it. Lying still, he hoped he might regain enough strength to endure the pain and let him try to reach the door.

Why? That was the question that kept going through his mind. Why would Caroline do it? He sure as hell didn't kill her husband.

Did he?

He never saw all the faces of the soldiers he fought in the war. He couldn’t recall all of the faces of the men who died by his hand face to face. For his peace of mind, he thought that was a good thing. Cyrus Jamison, from what Caroline told him, had died in a dustbowl tent town during a cattle drive. He didn't remember killing anyone in a place like that at all, or anyone with that name anywhere else.

Why would she think that he murdered her husband? Had she lost her mind?

Bitterness filled him. Every woman that he’d dared let into his wounded heart after Sarah’s death betrayed him. Ella and her elaborate scheme nearly killed him and drove away his friends. It resulted in hurting Mary and his making another pact to avoid women, one that didn’t last too long. A lapse that now resulted in Caroline’s apparent seduction and deceit. Once he got through this, he planned on swearing off decent women for a very long time, and unless he paid for their services, he was not going to be interested.

The extremes of emotions were not helping him, he felt himself growing weaker. His heart was heavy, his eyelids drooped. Even as he fought to stay awake, with little effort at all he once again slipped into darkness.

+ + + + + + +

The mid-afternoon sun beat down, warming the ground and town, and the lengthening shadows showed the yellow orb’s slow descent through the sky. Quiet ruled the town now, with a sense of peace still enjoyed by the residents.

Vin Tanner was at the stable, saddling his horse to go out on patrol. Josiah had come back a short time before, and now it was the tracker's turn to check on the ranches, small farms, and homesteaders that they protected.

"Vin?" Mary’s soft voice came from behind the tracker.

"Yes, ma’am?" He turned to face her, tipping his hat in a gesture of respect.

"Is Mr. Larabee still out at his place?"

Vin nodded. "Problem?" he asked in his raspy drawl.

Mary hesitated. “I’m not sure.” She sighed deeply before continuing," I received a request from a fellow newspaper asking for confirmation that Chris Larabee was still a resident here. When I telegrammed back to find out why, the editor informed me that there was a Pinkerton detective that had stopped in a week before.”

“Is he headed here?” Vin asked.

Mary shrugged her shoulders, her brow knitted in a frown. “I don’t know. The editor didn’t know either, he’s been very ill, and apologized for not sending word earlier. He’s not sure if the Agent is still in town, but I thought it would be best if Mr. Larabee was asked before I replied."

"I'll ride out there. Ya know who hired the Pinkerton detective?"

"The editor didn't know. We've been exchanging telegrams and information for the better part of the day, which is why I didn't find someone sooner."

"I'll go get Chris, Mary." Vin mounted his horse.

"Thank you, Vin."

He tipped his hat in response, heading out of town.

+ + + + + + +

Chris dreamed. More accurately, he relived a memory.

The town was like so many others, a spot on the map without anything special about it, and catering to the cattle ranchers in the area. One side held the 'decent' folk, the other cowboys and outlaws. He'd stopped to eat in the restaurant straddling the two sides. His server was a brown-haired, brown-eyed harried woman, not overly beautiful but comely. She worked all the tables in the place, yet somehow kept track of everyone’s orders, all while dodging the gropes of the uncouth.

She put his water in front of him. "There. Now, what can I get you to eat?"

"What's good?"

"Don't touch the meat loaf, stay away from the chicken, but the sirloin's pretty good. You like it rare, and you want potatoes with it."

"I do?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Her telling him what he liked and wanted amused him, especially since they hadn't met before, but he did like his steak rare.

"Unless you want to spend the rest of your stay, may it be short for you, in the outhouse, that's what you'll have."

Chris nodded and grinned at her comment. Yes, that would be something he wanted to avoid.

She bustled off, and he covertly watched her slender form hustle about, refilling drinks, delivering food, and trying to keep control of the dining room. When she brought him a basket of rolls, she said, "From me to you for not complaining. Don't touch the apple butter, but the honey's fresh."

He turned on the charm. "Much obliged. Might I have your name to thank you properly?"

"Mrs. Jamison."

"Mrs. Jamison, much obliged for your kindness." All thoughts of charming a married woman went out of his head. "Your husband's a lucky man."

A shadow crossed her face. "My husband died. Just me, my brother's restaurant, my worthless, vindictive, lazy sister-in-law, and this room full of idiots. Enjoy. I'll be back in a few." She hurried off.

A widow and judging from the clothes, out of the year of mourning for her husband, if she followed the custom. He understood losing someone, and the thought brought a fresh pain to his heart. Lost in his thoughts, his hand fumbled for the knife to butter a roll, and he knocked it to the floor.

"Didn't realize the rolls were that bad," she said, appearing at the table quietly. "I'll take them away." Her hand reached for the basket.

"No." He clapped a hand on hers. "It's not that."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't knock you upside your empty head with my tray for touching me." Her previously friendly eyes coolly assessed him, and one hand tightened on the tray she held.

"I'm sorry." He let go immediately. He was glad no one else appeared to notice their exchange. Secretly, he was also pleased that she was not so accepting of anyone’s touch. "I shouldn't have. It's not the food."

"Then it's your heart. You look sad, Mister. None of my business, but I'd recommend you have some coffee."

That made no sense to him. "Oh, you think coffee will cure me?"

"Yup." She winked at him. "For a time. It's strong stuff, better than the water you're drinking now."

He agreed to try it.

When she returned, he took a tentative sip, feeling the kick of the whiskey tucked inside. Maybe she was right; the kick of good whiskey blended with the hot beverage was evening out his mood. "Very good." He smiled.

The woman leaned close to him, practically whispering. "My personal, special blend. Make sure you eat the mint at the end to cover the fumes, or else my brother the ogre boss will have a fit. He keeps this place liquor free because his wife's brother owns the saloon two doors down."

Chris smirked. "Wouldn't want to cause you trouble for such a fine blend. Much obliged."

"Since I'm risking my job for you, can I ask your name? You already have half of mine."

"Chris Larabee, and the rest of yours?"

"Bold, aren't you?" She smiled at him. "Caroline."

"Pleasure meeting you, Caroline." He gave her his best smile.

"Keep smiling like that and I just might throw in dessert."

"What kind?" Chris kept his tone light, leaving the implication that he was romantically interested underneath the polite words. "There's all kinds of desserts, and I'm sure you'd serve up something pretty as a picture and just as tasty, but not as beautiful as you." He practically winced, realizing those were some of the worst words he'd ever thrown out to attract a woman in a long time, and probably heavily influenced by Buck Wilmington.

"We'll just have to see what's on the menu. Subject to change at any moment, you understand. But right now, it's looking rather promising."

"I await the lady's pleasure," he remarked. "And leave myself to her tender mercies."

"Pleasure, mercy, all very interesting concepts. Maybe we could discuss them at length at a later time." She winked.

"I'd like that." Perhaps he wasn't as rusty as he thought.

She brought him dessert, and then met him after her shift for a perfectly respectable walk through town, at least in the parts of town that were considered 'better' than the sections Chris felt more at home in. Returning her to the restaurant, he thanked her for her hospitality, leaving her for her brother to walk her home.

Chris met her at her house later that night, coming in the back, and they talked and kissed for hours. She wouldn't allow things to go past a kiss and an embrace, but that was fine with Chris. It had been awhile since he'd had a woman engage both his mind and his body, and waiting didn't bother him. He liked getting to know her.

The black-clad gunslinger continued to see the widow for a week. He didn't have any pressing business. Nowhere to be and no one waiting for him, the distraction she provided his loneliness was welcoming. In public, they handled themselves with decorum, dictated more so by her hated sister-in-law and stern brother than the barely interested townspeople. By the end of the week, they realized they wanted to go past the clandestine talks, beyond stolen kisses, and more than the oh-so-proper chaperoned horseback rides. They agreed on where and when, and it was something special neither expected. Chris stayed another three weeks, longer than he normally did in any one town lately, and that's when the kid breezed into town looking to make a name.

Neither Chris or Caroline ever truly talked about that night, but when he helped her move away - her brother had disowned her and called her a whore - from the only town she'd ever known, he given her the use his name, pretending they were husband and wife while they traveled. Once in a place he judged to be safe for her, he played the part of her brother in law, giving him a legitimate reason to come back after she was settled. He didn't leave until she healed and found a job. Larabee was not ready to be tied down again so soon after losing Sarah and Adam, and she had a life to rebuild. They agreed the timing wasn't right between them, letting him go without too much guilt.

When he went back some time later, after being sidetracked with his own investigation into the murders of Sarah and Adam, he found out she'd left town not too long after she arrived, leaving no forwarding information. The townspeople told him nothing, but their condemning looks answered his questions. Chris knew if he found Caroline, he might bring more speculation and let their past catch up to her again, ruining any life she had. So he stayed away, never searching for her, cursed his black reputation, and wandered until he found himself in a gunfight to prevent a black healer from hanging.

The dream dissolved, leaving him awake and in pain. Not to mention weak and he knew that was from blood loss. Lying here alone wasn't helping, he needed help. It was something he was going to have to try to get for himself. He’d been hurt before and managed, he would do it again. If - and this was a pretty big if in his mind - he could get to his horse, he could ride for town. Or let the horse walk him there. Nathan might be able to help him.

When he tried to sit up, his entire body protested. For a fleeting moment the thought crossed Chris’ mind that it might be too late. He tried to move slowly, dragging his body toward the door. He couldn't - it was too painful. His eyes watered from the agony, and frustration filled him. Giving one last effort, he managed to roll over, the pain seared him and he lost the contents in his stomach. As he slid into darkness again, his last thought was that he had failed.

+ + + + + + +

Vin topped the small rise that sat above Larabee’s small shack. He was wondering if his friend had managed to sort through the demons or whatever had made him desire his few days of solitude. Gazing down upon the small, too quiet homestead, he stared in suspicion and began to search the area for hidden dangers. Vin noticed the barn door open and no sign of his friend moving about the yard or corral. The gunslinger’s black gelding and two of his new mares were grazing at the grove of trees at the back of the house. The lone milk cow Larabee recently purchased was on the opposite side closer to the creek. Fear filled his heart, and he spurred his own mount toward the house.

Vin kept out of the line of site of the cabin’s front windows and doors. As he got closer, he slid from his horse and secured him to a tree out of sight. Pulling his mare's leg from its holster, he stealthily approached the front door. When he reached it, he took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself to face what he might find. Steeling himself, he kicked the door open with the weapon primed to fire. What he saw scared him even more.

Blood - lots of it – sprayed across the opposite wall, the bed, and soaked the twitching form on the floor. It filled the interior with its sickly sweet smell, and there was entirely too much of it.

No one else was in the cabin. Putting away the mare's leg, Vin rushed to his friend’s side. "Chris?"

Larabee moaned.

Flipping him over, all Tanner saw was crimson coating the front of the body belonging to his friend, and two gunshot wounds. "Aw, hell." From the pale complexion, and the faintest recognition in Larabee's eyes, Vin knew that the gunslinger was losing the battle to live. Knowing time counted and currently ran against him, he whipped the sheet from the bed and frantically began to rip it up. He folded two large sections of it and pressed one over each of the wounds, holding pressure.

After what seemed like hours to Vin the bleeding finally slowed. He knew Larabee needed more help than he could provide. He bandaged the pads over the wounds and set about preparing the gunslinger to move to town.

"Stay with me, cowboy. I'm takin' ya ta Nathan." He bundled Chris up the best he could under the circumstances, and then ran to get his horse. Sprinting back inside, he picked up Chris, carried him outside, and ignored the substances his friend expelled on his buckskins. He struggled to get the gunslinger up on the horse, and then swung up behind him. Holding the limp body in front of him, he took off toward town as quick as he could. Praying along the way that he was not too late.

Reaching town, his yells could be heard long before he pulled in proper. The rest of the Seven were quickly there at his side, helping him carry the injured gunslinger up the stairs to Nathan's clinic. Then the wait began.

Part Three

"I'd like a room, please," Caroline said.

"Sure, ma'am. Just you?"

A sad look intentionally crossed her face. "My husband was murdered awhile back. It's just me. I'm going home to my brother's in California."

"I'm real sorry to hear that, ma'am. There's a stage passing through at three tomorrow heading to points further West."

"I just might be on the stage. I'm quite terrible with directions; I got lost coming here. Where can I buy a ticket?"

"The telegraph office. That way they can tell the stage to stop here and pick you up."

"Thank you. Once I have a room, I'll take care of that, and then retire for the evening. Please see that I'm not disturbed."

"Certainly, ma'am. If you'll sign the register?"

She signed it 'Mrs. C. Jamison', and then accepted the key. "Much obliged. Where would I find the telegraph office?"

"Right next door, ma'am."

"Thank you again."

He bobbed his head.

Caroline bought a ticket for the stage. She'd wanted to leave earlier on Daisy, just in case something went wrong with her plans, but it would look more respectable if she traveled via stagecoach, instead of alone on horseback. It would also fit with the lies she told the clerk, cementing her story. Once in her locked room, she stripped out of her clothes, washed the dust off her body, and stretched out on the bed.

Her thoughts drifted back to the husband she grew up with, married, and lost. She hoped again he was resting with the angels now, because his killer was on the way to hell. Brown eyes closed when the tears came, both for him and the man she had fallen for after her husband died. She realized that in the short time they were together, Caroline Jamison fell completely in love with Chris Larabee. Otherwise, she never would have done what she did when they first met, knowing full well that having an illicit relationship would have serious consequences.

She paid that price a hundred times over since then, and paid it gladly for a while. The time with him was special. That love had sustained her through the hard times, giving her hope for a possible future. But then finding out less than a month ago he was the one who made her a widow, murdered her husband, made her love him, and then ruined her was enough to poison the love she held for him. Like she told him, she loved him, and she hated him. Which was why she gut shot him and left him to die. It would take longer that way, and he would understand why . . . and he would suffer. And she wanted him to suffer, just like she had.

He'd confessed to her one night he was after the people who killed his wife and son, and she told him of her vow to find her husband's killer. It united them, that search for justice, and they talked about what they would do when they found the persons responsible for their tragedies. Chris Larabee held the desire for vengeance deep in his heart, just as she did. He would understand her justice.

And, a part of her finally admitted, his understanding was another reason she left him time to think about killing her Cyrus, remember him, because obviously he didn't. He would have admitted it to her when they first got close if he killed Cyrus; that was the kind of man he was. He didn't, so he didn't remember, and that just wasn’t right.

Alternatively, he was a methodical sonofabitch and it was all part of his plan. He killed Cyrus, and somehow Cyrus had mad him angry enough to continue his retribution to his family. So he hunted down his widow, followed by ruining her. Or he found it amusing to do so. Her mind kept telling her the sequence of events was too smooth, too planned to be coincidental, and she was a fool for falling right into his plan…and bed.

He'd fooled her. Now, she fooled him. Let him stew on her victory before he died.

+ + + + + + +

"I've got to get those bullets out," Nathan said, half to himself and half to the occupants of the room. "Buck, keep the water boiling. JD, I'll need bandages, and lots of them. Josiah -"

"I know, brother." After drying his newly washed hands, Josiah prepared the surgical instruments, and then started sponging the blood away from the wounds while Nathan scrubbed up.

Buck got the kettle going over the fire, bolting from the room to have both the saloon and the hotel prepare some water.

JD wiped down the nightstand beside the bed, and then opened the box Nathan kept bandages in. He pulled out strips, laying them down on the nightstand within easy reach. When the box was half-empty, he set the rest in a pile, leaving to find more.

+ + + + + + +

Buck grabbed Vin on his way out of the clinic. "He's alive for now. Go find the sonofabitch."

Vin nodded. "Ez?" He didn't even turn to the gambler coming to a stop near him.

"Right behind you, Mr. Tanner."

The two men went to the stables, where Vin got a fresh horse, and saddled up.

"Vin?" Mary hurried over to the pair.

"He's hurt bad, Miz Travis. Best you wire the Judge. We're goin' huntin'." He gave her a hard look, and the pair rode off toward Larabee's place.

The pace to the shack was grueling, but neither man complained. When they arrived, Vin carefully led them down the back way to the cabin.

"Happened today," the tracker said, breaking the silence. "Wounds are too fresh."

They opened the door to the cabin.

"Dear Lord," Ezra exclaimed. "The blood."

"Gut and shoulder shots," Vin explained. "Bled a lot."

"Obviously." Turning his head, the gambler saw something by the door. "Mr. Tanner?" He waited until the tracker faced him. "The gun." Ezra picked it up carefully, sniffed, and then checked the chambers. "Recently fired and not cleaned. And from the distance, not fired by Mr. Larabee's hand."

"Shot with his gun. Bastard," Vin muttered. "Ya don't shoot a man with his own gun."

"He knew and trusted his attacker for that cretin to have access to his weapon."

Vin squatted down beside the bed. Grabbing the mug, he examined it. Bringing it to his nose, he smelled the whiskey and coffee mix. "He had breakfast and there was whiskey in his coffee."

"Again, he trusted his attacker. Were you aware that he had guests?"

"Hell, no." Tanner snorted, pushing himself to his feet. "Told me he was coming out here for a few days. Had some things to work on. Reckoned he needed the break from the craziness. Rest of us did."

"I'd agree. I don't believe there's anything else to be learned here."

"Nope." They walked outside, and Vin checked around the corral and the horses. "Ez."

"Yes?"

"The livestock was set loose,” Vin explained. “Whoever shot ‘im wasn’t out ta steal the horses."

"How interesting," Standish replied.

"Not as interesting as this." Vin pointed at the ground.

Ezra came up beside him, looking down. One eyebrow rose. "Boots."

"Small boots."

"They look feminine."

"Yup."

Blue eyes met bright green.

Ezra carefully voiced his thoughts. "He'd trust a woman he knew. The twisted Mrs. Gaines comes to mind. Do you believe she came here to see him?"

Vin shook his head. "He wouldn't have let her near his gun. Hell, he would've shot her. Or at least tied her up."

"Maybe he didn't have a choice," Ezra remarked. "Or was surprised. We must keep possibilities open."

"Yeah. There are fresh tracks away from here. Let's go."

Both men climbed aboard their horses, starting to follow the tracks away from the Larabee place. They traveled for two hours before it got dark, and the trail was impossible to see. Frustrated, both men made a meager camp, spoke little, and waited for daybreak. For once, Ezra didn't complain about the prospect of getting up early.

+ + + + + + +

"That's one," Nathan announced, removing the bullet from the midsection and dropping it into the pan beside the bed. "It was in the muscle." He closed the first wound with neat stitches, applied a salve to ward off infection, and used bandages to cover it.

"Good," Josiah breathed. "He might have a chance."

"If I can find the other one." Taking a deep breath, Nathan went to work on the second wound.

"You're doing great, Doc," JD said, replacing fresh bandages in the empty spots on the nightstand.

Buck returned with another pair of buckets of hot water. "More hot water, Nate." He picked up the used buckets, tinged with pink from blood, and left.

A steady hand used clamps to hold the peeled back skin secure, and sterilized tweezers entered the hole, slowly moving forward to probe for the bullet. Finally, the metal end of the tweezers hit the bullet, causing Nathan to lean forward. Josiah moved the light closer, and the healer peered into the wound. Opening the tweezers, he put the ends around the mangled bullet, pulling it up and out.

Immediately, he used his free hand to sponge away the fresh blood, his other giving Josiah the tweezers and bullet. Nathan cleaned the wound, packed it, and loosely stitched it to be able to change the packing. The salve went on next, followed by bandages.

"Now it's up to him and God. Lost a lot of blood." Jackson washed his hands.

"I'll ask for some help if he's listening to me." Josiah set the lamp down.

Buck and JD quietly helped with the cleanup, and the latter informed the waiting townspeople of Larabee's condition.

+ + + + + + +

"Mr. Tanner?" Beneath the canopy of stars, green eyes contemplating the heavens, and surrounded by beauty, Ezra Standish could not sleep. His thoughts were heavy, and some variables bothered him, like the tracker beside him. What would Vin do when faced with the person or persons responsible for shooting Chris? Would he kill that person on his own, or would he take the person into custody and allow the law to handle it? Or would they take the person back, but in a damaged condition? He needed to eliminate some variables so that he could plan his own actions.

"Yeah?" The tracker's voice sounded just as awake.

"How bad were the injuries? I only had a fleeting glimpse."

"Ya saw the cabin."

"But not the person."

Vin blew out a breath. "Bad enough we didn’t stay in town ta find out if Nathan could help him."

"You believe the worst?"

"I ain't hopeful," Tanner whispered. "Seen a man gut shot like that who took most of a day ta die, and he never woke back up. Reckon if I - we -catch the sonofabitch, Chris'll understand."

"And if the sonofabitch is actually a female?" Ezra did not get an immediate reply; he listened to the nighttime music of the desert while waiting.

"Then she'll ride back with us."

"Undamaged?"

"I'll truss her up if she gives us a problem, but I ain't about ta let her - or him - not come back with us."

"May I admit I wondered your thoughts?"

Vin rolled over to stare at Ezra and smiled. "Can't say I didn't think hard on it."

"So have I," Standish agreed softly.

"Dead or alive don't make no difference to me. But Chris, he's got that code of honor. We don't have it that bad."

"Thank God for small favors." Ezra shuddered.

"Reckon so. Lets us do what's necessary. Too many times he's let the law handle it instead of finishin' it himself. Top Hat Bob, the Stokes sisters, and a few others. I owe it ta him ta handle things his way."

"So we will be bringing back a live prisoner?"

"Unless it's them or us," Vin qualified.

"Mrs. Gaines employs ruffians to do her bidding. If she's behind this, she'll be prepared."

"Didn't see any tracks but a woman's and Larabee's. Plus it’s only the one horse we're following."

"The chance exists, my friend, we are riding into an ambush."

"Then ya best shoot straight with them three guns."

Ezra chuckled. "While you exercise due caution."

"Hell, Ez, I didn't know ya cared." A teasing quality entered the tracker's voice.

Standish cleared his throat. "There are few I call friend, Vin, and trust to watch my back. I already hurt for one of them, and I'd prefer not to add another."

"Thanks, Ezra. We'll take it slow and smart," Vin replied. "Which means quit yappin' and get some sleep."

"Who made you trail boss?" Ezra muttered.

+ + + + + + +

Buck peeked into the clinic for the fifteenth time that night. He hadn't slept, couldn't eat. All he could do was worry. This was his best and oldest friend, the man who understood him beyond all others, and now all the rogue could do was watch . . . and pray.

Nathan nodded to him that Chris was still among the living, and Josiah's prayers reassured Buck.

The sonofabitch who did this would have a lot to answer for, Buck decided, when Vin and Ezra brought him back. If they brought him back alive. Knowing Vin's bounty hunter past, dead was probable, but that was okay with Buck. He just wanted the reason Chris was shot before the person died, and trusted Vin and Ezra to get it.

"Mary said the Judge is on his way," he whispered to the other men.

The healer bobbed his head.

"Nathan?" Buck swallowed.

"He's strong and stubborn."

Wilmington snorted. "Stubborn, hell. The man wrote the book on it."

"That'll help. He makes it through the next couple days, and the fever doesn’t get too bad, he's got a chance. But right now, I don't know."

"Have faith, Brothers. Chris won't quit." Josiah looked at both of them. "Lie down, I'll watch him. Get some rest, both of you."

"Can't sleep." Buck shook his head, finding a stool to sit on.

"What if something happens?" Nathan countered.

"I'll wake you."

Both men declined, and Josiah, knowing further arguments were useless, resumed his prayers.

Part Four

Morning broke, and Caroline pulled herself from the bed. She wandered the small town she now knew was called Eagle Bend, and shopped the mercantile. Having a few conversations with the people, she found them friendly, but they looked at her a little strangely for humming so much. It couldn't be helped; she was ecstatic about the fact Chris Larabee was probably dead by now. That made her giddy, and her happiness seemed strange to others, so she retreated to her room, avoiding the stares of the people. Caroline spent the rest of the time until the noon meal remembering her two loves Cyrus Jamison and Chris Larabee.

Quiet and subdued, she meant to eat alone. However, the Sheriff came over and asked in his polite yet gruff way to join her, telling her he was not trying to be forward, but her table had the only empty chair in the restaurant. Agreeing, she found him an interesting companion, as she spent the time drawing him out. When he asked about her plans, she explained she would be leaving shortly on the afternoon stage. Surprisingly, it was an enjoyable meal, far away from the shooting in the neighboring town.

She wanted to boast of her victory, but she did not; instead, she smiled and joked with the Sheriff. The danger appealed to her; here she was, sitting across from a man representing the law, after what she had done and was getting away with. Something so many wanted to succeed at – murder. But it was revenge . . . no, justice . . . she rationalized to herself, saying Chris deserved it for all the pain he caused her and her husband's death.

Chris remained alive, but unconscious through the long night. Fever set in, and cold wipe downs became a requirement to keep it under control. Nathan continued to work to save his patient. He wasn’t alone, everyone took turns, fetching the water, wetting the cloths, or wiping the slowly warming body. And, he was not alone in his hopes and prayers, but they each wondered if it was enough.

With daybreak, Vin and Ezra continued to follow the trail, all the way to a farm nowhere near anything. Talking to the farmer, they found out a woman came through, got a description of her, and discovered she claimed she was lost. The farmer pointed her in the direction of Eagle Bend. The tracks they followed also led right to town, as they arrived dusty and tired just half past one. Exchanging looks, they went to the corral first, keeping out of sight of the local residents. Both knew their faces were not among the most popular in this town. Especially not welcome after the regulators removed Nathan's father from the town’s lynch mob to assure a fair trial. And, the residents since of injustice done to them at that trial and the ensuing fight afterwards. Yet, a few well-placed bribes earned them the knowledge that the horse belonged to a light brown haired woman. They even discovered that woman was leaving on the three o'clock stage, and the description of her matched the one given by the farmer.

Slinking into the shadows between the buildings, they waited and they watched. Both were ready to grab the woman and take her back to their town to ask questions there, because they knew there would be no cooperation from the law in this town.

"Come on out, you sonsabitches," a voice called to them. "I’ve got enough men to beat you senseless just for the fun of it, and hot lead ready."

Vin and Ezra exchanged glances, and then slipped from their hiding places. Their positioning protected each other’s backs, and they were prepared for a fight.

"Problem, Sheriff?" Tanner took the initiative.

"You don’t have any authority in my town, so don’t be thinking you’ll be talking to anyone that comes through here," Stains told them.

"Got enough authority to question a witness," Vin replied. "Can’t stop us from that."

"Witness to what?”

“Attempted murder,” Ezra drawled. “And Sheriff Stains, no matter what you think of us, you must realize that as an officer of the law and duly sworn representative of the court, you are obligated to render assistance in our search for the culprit. You wouldn’t want anyone to report back that you were interfering with our investigation?"

"That a threat, con man?"

Some of the townspeople muttered amongst themselves and prepared to back their sheriff in a fight, punching fist to palm, or dropping their hands to their weapons.

"Well, sir, since there are so many of you standing around hearing what I am saying, and Judge Travis is already en route to our fair berg, perhaps he would be interested in your level of cooperation." Steady green eyes belonging to a man that faced hostile masses more often than not bored into the crowd, stopping to rest on the Sheriff.

"Who got shot?" asked Stains.

"A citizen," Ezra immediately replied. "Which the lady who owns the horse we followed into town might have witnessed."

Stains considered. "You’ll wait in my jailhouse for me. I’ll speak to the lady, see if she’s willing to cooperate, and the only way I’ll allow questioning will be to have James Lightfoot present and representing her and our interests."

Vin nodded tightly. The look he exchanged with Ezra said that they would take what they could get now, and then later, they would do things their way. To hell with Stains, Lightfoot, and the rest of this town.

Stepping into the jailhouse, they waited patiently but not alone - two deputies sat with them, not allowing them to talk.

+ + + + + + +

Sheriff Stains had someone bring her downstairs from her hotel room and waited until she appeared in the lobby. "Mrs. Jamison."

"Yes, Sheriff?" She smiled at him. "Are you being kind and offering me an escort to the stage?"

He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Jamison, some men from a neighboring town want to speak to you about something. They represent the law there."

"Oh, my." Her hand flew up to cover her heart. "Did something happen to my brother?"

"No, no, no, nothing like that," he hurried to reassure her. "They just want to question you."

"About what?" Caroline tilted her head.

"Would you be willing to speak with them?" Stains hated doing this, especially for that group of gunslingers, but sometimes his job required him to do things he didn’t like. And this he didn’t like this at all, but he was too much of a lawman.

Concern filled her features. "Am I in any trouble?"

"Not that I’ve been told, Mrs. Jamison, but I want to make sure you're protected. Would you object if I had an attorney sit with you, representing both your and the town’s interests during the questioning?"

"What aren’t you saying, Sheriff?" Brown eyes assessed him.

He felt small under her gaze. "These men, they’re a little rough around the edges. Ruthless. And I don’t want you to get trapped into something that doesn’t concern you. So I want to protect you by having Mr. Lightfoot and myself there. Just in case."

She laid a hand on his sleeve and looked into his eyes. "My thanks, Sheriff. Can I trust this Mr. Lightfoot?"

"He’s a good attorney," the Sheriff replied. He liked the feel of her hand on his arm, the way she looked at him. It gave him a few carnal thoughts. Clearing his throat and trying not to flush under her scrutiny, he said, "Mr. Lightfoot."

A tall, dapperly dressed gentleman came over. "Mrs. Jamison, I presume?"

"Yes. Mr. Lightfoot?"

He gave her a courtly bow. "At your service."

"No one’s yet said what your services will cost me, Mr. Lightfoot."

The Sheriff and the attorney both answered, "No charge." Stains had already told Lightfoot it was a continuation of his services to his town.

"It’s quite surprising to meet such generous men. Now, if we can finish this business quickly, perhaps you would allow me to purchase you gentlemen a refreshment before my stage departs?" She looked from one to the other, and they nodded.

"Shall we?"

+ + + + + + +

Ezra studied her the minute she walked in and continued to do so under the oh-so-polite introduction. All of his skills were honed, and he was prepared for the con. She gave nothing away, which told him she was a professional. Either she was a professional working girl or liar. He would see soon enough how good she was, and how fast he could break her down. He was going to do the talking, and Vin would watch her and look menacing. They decided on that strategy without words, using eye contact to decide their plans while the two deputies sat there watching them.

Sharp green eyes assessed her, taking in the curly light brown hair beneath the oh-so-proper bonnet. The wide brown eyes gave away just a hint of curiosity mixed with fear, the average figure, and somber traveling gown. It was of a decent fabric, neither screaming of high fashion, nor a near future candidate for the rag pile. He also noticed she was performing her own evaluation of both men, focusing more on him than on Vin. That told him she knew where the threat truly was - him - and that she’d already dismissed Vin as no threat, even with his menacing look.

"We appreciate you taking the time to see us," Ezra greeted politely, breaking the silence caused by their studies of each other.

"It’s no trouble at all. I’m happy to help out the law," she replied with a sincere smile.

Standish wasn’t buying it. His instincts screamed she had something to do with shooting Chris, if she wasn’t the one that pulled the trigger. However, none of his disbelief showed on his face, especially because they needed her to admit it, or make a mistake so they could take her into custody. "We are obliged for your cooperation. Hopefully, we can make this brief. Allow me to ask you a few questions. Can you tell me your whereabouts yesterday?"

"My whereabouts? What a strange question."

James Lightfoot, attorney at law, held a hand up to interrupt. "Pray tell if my client is considered a suspect in a crime. That will determine whether or not she answers your questions."

Ezra barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Attorneys served their purpose, but in the simple questioning of a woman, they were not necessary. She had not officially been charged with anything, so he did not have leverage, but he was going to finesse what he had. "We’re inquiring because there is the very real possibility that your client may have been a witness to a shooting, whether she was aware of it or not."

"A shooting?" Horror covered her features. "Was anyone killed?"

Well done, he thought. Extremely well acted, and if he hadn’t been looking for tells, he wouldn’t have seen them. Perhaps Vin might have caught something in the carefully feigned reactions. Flicking his eyes quickly to the tracker, he could read Tanner was not sure about her.

"Not that we are aware of at this time," he replied. "We left prior to finding out the severity of the injuries to the victim."

"I hope the person will be okay," Caroline declared. "May I ask what happened?"

"Before I explain, ma'am, I would like to find out if you may or may not have seen anyone of interest during your travels."

"If I can help, I will," she assured him.

"Then we come back to your whereabouts, Mrs. Jamison. Mr. Lightfoot, since we have established the circumstances and that your client's considered a potential witness, will you allow her to answer?" Standish gave a hard look to the attorney, non-verbally challenging him to find a reason not to answer, especially with the gravity of the situation.

"Go ahead, Mrs. Jamison. Tell them where you were so we can clear this matter up."

"Yes, sir. I was on my way home to my brother, and I’m sorry to say that I got hopelessly lost, and had to stop for directions before finding this town."

"Where did you stop for directions?" Ezra asked, keeping his face impassive.

"At a farm, and I spoke with a very nice Mister Hastings. Before that I stopped at a homestead, but didn’t stay there long."

"We've spoken to Mr. Hastings, ma'am, and he verified your stop there. Can you tell me where the homestead was?"

"I'm not really sure, sir. I'm terrible with directions."

"What did it look like?" he asked, trying a different tack.

"New wood on a small house, in the middle of a field, just off the road. It had a corral with horses." Caroline hesitated.

"You seem unsure about something," Ezra prodded.

"Well, when I was riding up, there was a dust cloud on the road in front of me. About three or four horses. I guessed it was riders a hurry." She blew out a breath. "I don't know if that's important or not."

"You saw riders?" Vin asked, breaking his silence.

"More like the dust cloud moving away. I didn't hear anything. But it scared me, so I hid in the trees, and waited a spell."

"Why?" Standish found Mrs. Caroline Jamison impressive in her delivery. She actually looked like she believed what she was telling them, and her manner supported her lies. This was probably one of the most professional liars he had ever met in his life, and that was saying something.

"I wasn't sure if they were coming back, and I'm a woman traveling by myself. I have to be careful."

"Which was the right and proper thing for you to do, Mrs. Jamison," Lightfoot told her. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Standish?"

Ezra forced an insincere smile. "Self-preservation cannot be underrated. Getting back to this homestead, what did you do next?"

"I rode down to the corral, tied my horse up, and then called out. No one answered me, and I didn't see anyone in the nearby fields. So I went to the door, knocked, but no one answered. That's when I left."

"Did you look inside the house?"

"No, sir." Caroline affected a horrified expression. "That's trespassing."

"Being on the property, Mrs. Jamison, would be considered trespassing."

"Mrs. Jamison already stated she was looking for directions. It's not a crime to ask for neighborly assistance." Lightfoot stared hard at Ezra.

"Quite right." Again, Standish forced a fake smile, and allowed the point to go unchallenged for now.

"Do you have any further questions for my client? She does have a stage to catch."

"Just one." Ezra took a deep breath. "Do you know a Chris Larabee, Mrs. Jamison?"

Stains gasped. "Someone shot that sonofabitch?"

Ezra ignored him, studying the woman.

Caroline showed surprise. "I used to know a Chris Larabee. Was he the one that was hurt?"

Standish nodded once. She wasn't surprised, he told himself. She was expecting that question. This woman should be an actress - she was that good. He could tell both Stains and Lightfoot bought her innocence and surprise.

"That's terrible. Mr. Larabee was always a sweet man, and a good tipper."

The men exchanged glances.

Ezra said, "You knew him professionally?"

Catching the look between them, Caroline affected an angry expression. "How dare you, sirs, to think that about me. I worked for an honest wage in my brother's restaurant serving food, and Mr. Larabee was nothing but courteous to me."

"My apologies, ma'am," Stains blushed.

"Excuse me," Lightfoot added.

Vin and Ezra said nothing, but Standish had the connection now. She knew Chris, and that went a long way in his mind. Unfortunately, he knew that there was not enough to take her back with them now, especially in front of these witnesses.

Caroline nodded her acceptance at their apologies, then turned frosty eyes, faking concern, back to Ezra. "Tell Mr. Larabee I hope he gets well soon."

"I surely will," Standish replied. He barely contained the sarcasm, but knew it would not serve him well right now.

"If you're done, gentlemen, I'll escort Mrs. Jamison to the stage. Have a nice day," Lightfoot tipped his hat, offering his arm to the woman. She took it, and the pair left.

"She's free to go," Stains gave them a cold stare.

"She's involved, Sheriff," Vin replied. "You, me, Lightfoot, and Ezra know it."

"Not enough to hold her, even if I suspected her guilt. Which I don't." He gave them a disgusted look.

"You didn't track her horse from his place to here," Vin replied.

"Did you even bother to look at the group of horses that were leaving? Maybe Larabee pissed off one of them."

"We're checking into everything," Tanner answered evenly.

"Since you've already checked her out, you're done here. Get out of my town, because you've got no more official business keeping you here."

Ezra stood, straightening his jacket and trousers. "It will be a pleasure to see the back of this town."

The Sheriff glared at them, and Vin glared back.

Walking outside, Ezra softly said, "There were no sign of horses going through the area, other than hers and ours, correct?"

"No horses, no tracks," Tanner replied.

"We're stopping the stage?"

"Yup."

The two men mounted their horses, riding out of town ostensibly in the direction of their town. Once sure they were not being followed, the pair rode hard to get ahead of the lumbering stagecoach, picking the best spot to detain it and remove Caroline Jamison. Forcefully.

Part Five

Rumbling along, the stage continued its run, slowly gathering speed on the road away from Eagle Bend. Approximately an hour out, the road narrowed with trees on either side. It was a part of the journey the driver and guard hated because it was a good place for an ambush. So far, they'd been lucky.

Today was not a lucky day.

In front of them, a lone horse blocked the path, gun resting across the thighs, but not pointed at the stage. One hand held out in a gesture to stop, the man atop the horse dressed in buckskin pants yelled, "This ain’t a hold up. We’re peacekeepers lookin’ for a fugitive."

The driver nodded, pulling the animals to a stop.

The guard remained alert, displaying his shotgun.

Looking past the stage, Vin saw Ezra ride up behind them, his weapon pulled.

Speaking in a gravelly voice, the tracker commanded, "Ain’t gonna hurt no one. Just want ta check yer passengers."

"On who’s authority?" the guard challenged.

"The Honorable Orin W. Travis. I’m a sworn officer of his court," Tanner replied. "Ya wanna argue, or let us check and git on yer way?"

All fight left the guard; recognition of the name was obvious on his features.

+ + + + + + +

Inside the stage, Caroline recognized the voice. She turned to the elderly couple across from her. "Please help me," she begged.

"Are you in trouble, dear?" The older woman asked, concern obvious on her face.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm being falsely accused of shooting someone. Because I don't want to see anyone hurt, I'm going to go with them peacefully, but I beg you to either go back to Eagle Bend to tell Sheriff Stains what these men are doing, or wire Sheriff Stains when you get to the next stop. I don't believe they'll hurt me." She passed a few dollars from her reticule to the woman. "Here’s money for the wire."

"We'll do what we can," the woman answered.

"Martha," her husband warned.

"Can we take the chance that she's telling the truth, and we're doing nothing to help her?"

"Thank you, ma'am."

+ + + + + + +

Standish looked in the window and smiled a nasty smile. "Mrs. Jamison, step out of the coach," Ezra instructed, his gun, held and pointed at her. "We will not harm you."

"I don't want to go with you," she replied.

"I don’t believe you have a choice," he calmly replied. The gun-less hand opened the door and he motioned her out.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you have a warrant for her arrest?" the older man asked.

"The Honorable Judge Orin W. Travis will be issuing it as we speak. Unless, sir, you would prefer we take you in for obstructing justice, and aiding in a fugitive’s escape. Now, we would have waited for the warrant, yet, the fugitive was fleeing the territory."

The couple looked at her with uncertainty.

"I'm not fleeing, Mr. Standish, and I have been completely forthright about my travel plans. Nor am I fugitive, but an innocent woman accused of a horrible crime!" Indignation showed in her tone. "However, in the interest of the well-being of the persons on this stage, I will accompany you to meet with the Honorable Judge Orin W. Travis and prove I had no involvement." Caroline climbed out of the stage, refusing Ezra's hand of assistance.

“This is quite unseemly, young man.” The elder woman confronted Standish before he could close the door.

Ezra tipped his hat. “I assure you my good woman, the crime the young lady perpetrated was quite unseemly. But do not fear, she will be treated with due respect until she can stand trial and receive proper justice.”

The woman ‘huffed’ as she resumed her seat, seeing there were no further arguments that would work on the woman’s behalf

Once again, Standish tipped his hat to the couple, “I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

He closed the door. Standish latched onto Caroline’s arm with an iron grip, pulling her to the back of the stage. He untied her horse, yanking both a short distance back from the rear of the coach. "I have her and her horse," he yelled.

"Good," Tanner replied.

+ + + + + + +

From in front of the stage, Vin Tanner looked at the driver and the guard. "That woman shot a man with his gun in his bed. She’s a fugitive, and we’re takin’ her back fer trial. Any thoughts of rescuin’ her are foolish. Ya hear me?"

The driver swallowed, nodding his head in understanding. Beside him, the guard did the same.

"Git goin’."

Slowly, the stage lumbered to life, leaving the woman in the custody of the two men, passing the one on horseback that looked extremely wild and dangerous.

"I didn’t do anything," Caroline declared again. "And I object to this treatment."

"You’ll object further when we put you in a cell." Reaching into his coat pockets, Ezra removed a pair of handcuffs and clicked them closed with her hands in front of her. "Do you wish to lead, Mr. Tanner, or shall I?"

"You lead. I'll scout." Vin rode over with a rope in his hands.

Silently, Ezra boosted her up into the saddle, and then stepped out of kicking range.

+ + + + + + +

Efficiently, Vin attached a lead from her horse to Ezra's, and then tied her cuffed hands to the saddle horn. He wasn’t particularly gentle, but she gave no protest. "Comfortable?" Tanner asked her, a little bit of sarcasm in his voice.

"Very. What a lovely day for a ride," she replied using just as much sarcasm.

"Then hang on. We ain’t gonna take it slow and easy fer ya."

"I wouldn’t expect that from bullies and lawbreakers."

"At least I ain't the one goin' ta jail fer shootin' a man in his bed and leavin' him ta die."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Caroline retorted. She looked away from him, turning her nose up. "I'll be fortunate if I arrive wherever you're taking me alive."

Now he was mad. Vin got right beside her on horseback, leveling a finger in warning at her. "Keep yer wasp’s tongue in yer treacherous head, woman, before I forget I ain’t a gentleman and beat ya like ya deserve." Seeing this side of her, Vin no longer had doubts that she was guilty.

"I’d expect a beating from your lowlife kind." She spat into his face. "You wouldn't know how to be a gentleman or the concept of honor if either hit you in the face."

"Try that again and yer walkin’ behind the horse," Vin told her. "I ain’t putting up with yer sass. Chris Larabee's a good friend of mine, and only because of him are ya goin' back fer trial."

"I'd rather walk. My horse's behind's much better looking and has a sweeter disposition, instead of looking at your lack of couth."

Ezra started to ride away, pulling her horse with him.

Vin figured he must have either heard her or sensed the tracker was about to completely lose his formidable temper. To calm down, he took a handkerchief and wiped the spittle from his face. It was then he realized his hand was shaking with rage. There was very little that drove him to violence against women, but he wouldn’t have a problem knocking her off her horse and making her walk. Just thinking about how cold-blooded she was to shoot his friend with his own gun, and then leaving him to die, sent flashes of white-hot rage through his system. Add to that her mouth, and he was starting to wonder what Chris had seen in her. He had to be more than a casual friendly with her to let her so close.

He kept reminding himself he would do it Chris’s way, taking her in alive and unharmed, but so help her if she tried to escape. He'd gladly hunt her down. She would not be another Ella Gaines to hurt his friend and then escape without a trace. Yanking on his reins, he set off down the road at a gallop.

It took them the rest of the day to reach their town, riding hard for the remainder of daylight hours, and some more after that. Tanner was not going to be caught out on the trail with the woman prisoner, especially if someone on the stage decided to check out their story. Not only that, but it became a struggle to keep her on the horse.

She kept listing from side-to-side trying to fall off and slow them down. He'd had enough after an hour and tied her more securely to the horse so she couldn't move.

Her struggles against him resulted in him threatening to shoot her, especially if she tried to escape. He was reasonable when he said it, but the threat was there, along with the inference he wouldn't really mind putting a bullet in her, which shut her up momentarily. At least until they got underway again, and she used the only weapon available to her – words. He ended up gagging her because her mouth was infuriating the hell out of him with her constant complaints, insults to Ezra and him, and then followed by bouts of giggling fits and nonsense singing.

Vin was never so glad to see the outskirts of town. There, he would have more people to back them up if the Eagle Bend townsfolk heard about their little arrest and came after her.

Once there, he showed no mercy when he untied her and hauled her off the horse, pushing her on wobbling legs into the jail. There he uncuffed her, and thrust her into a cell, and none too gentlemanly at that. Ezra was left behind to deal with the horses. When he tossed her inside, part of him watched her fall into the bunk almost gratefully, but she issued no words of complaint.

"Vin!" JD charged into the jail. "He’s still alive."

"Ya hear that? Ya didn’t kill him," Vin told her, as he felt the relief flow through him.

The woman rolled over and faced the wall, not answering him.

Tanner turned to face Dunne, and saw the young man’s eyebrows nearly hitting the brim of his bowler hat. "Yeah, JD, we’re pretty sure she shot Chris. Watch her while I check on him."

"Sure."

He paused. "Don't let her get ya mad and do somethin' stupid."

"I won't."

Tanner turned back once more before he got completely out the door. “And don’t let her sweet talk ya.”

“I ain’t Buck,” JD stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets and gave Vin his ‘I ain’t a kid’ look at the same time.

For the first time in several days, Vin smiled. “I know, kid.”

Vin walked out of the jail, purposely not hearing JD’s mumbled reply, striding purposefully to Nathan’s clinic. When he reached the upstairs, he knocked, opened the door, and was not surprised to find a very ragged Buck sleeping on the floor beside the bed.

Nathan was reading, his eyes rising to the tracker’s. "Alive, fever, weak, but he’s holding on."

Relief flooded Vin’s body, and he nearly sagged.

"Sit down, Vin, before you fall over. You’ve been riding hard from the look of you." Nathan used his boot to toe a chair closer to the tracker, positioned at the end of the bed.

"We did."

"Any luck?" A thick voice, raw with sleep and worry, asked from the floor.

"Yup."

"Alive?" Buck sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Vin could see that the rogue hadn’t been sleeping well nor shaved since they left town. "Chris would want a trial."

A strangle laugh escaped Buck’s throat. "Yeah. Beat him up a bit?"

"She."

"What?" Wilmington shot to his feet, disbelief on his features. "A woman?"

Tanner nodded once. "Ain’t said she did it, but we aim ta prove it. Once Chris wakes up, all he’s got ta do is say the word."

"I’m hoping that will be tomorrow," Nathan sighed.

"Good work, Vin." Buck clapped the tracker on the shoulder. "I’m going to get some air and some sleep. Have a feeling that we should be prepared for trouble."

"Reckon the folks from Eagle Bend will be down. Had ta take her off a stage outside of town, and the passengers were a mite concerned."

"Then I’ll tell Josiah, too. You and Ez get some rest." Buck walked out.

"Mind if I stay a spell, Nathan?"

"There’s a bedroll already down."

Vin settled in and tried to sleep, hoping that the faint sound of his friend’s steady breathing. . . the proof that he still lived, would allow him to rest. Troubled thoughts about what almost happened and the days to come, kept him restless, though. Eventually, after his fair share of tossing and turning, he dozed off.

+ + + + + + +

Pain. He hurt everywhere. Chris Larabee had been hurt before, but right now, he couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. His mind took stock of his injuries, telling him his entire chest ached.

Memory returned, and bitterness filled him. He decided this was the last time he would wake up in pain because of a woman; he would keep his relations with them even less friendly, and take his pleasures in a straight business transaction. His heart would not be involved again.

Opening his eyes, he looked right up into a dark and relieved face, one hand descending immediately onto his forehead. "Nathan," he croaked.

"Let me check you over," the healer replied. The hand made contact with his forehead. "Good. Your fever broke."

Chris tried to swallow, but his throat hurt. "Water?"

Nodding, the healer poured him a glass. "Here. Small sips."

It felt heavenly, easing the rawness. "How long?"

"Long enough. Don't try to get up."

"Wasn't thinking about it." He knew when he was whipped, and right now, he probably couldn't sit up without falling over.

"Good." Nathan bobbed his head. "First thing you've said that makes sense."

A knock at the door, followed by a person entering, brought his eyes to bear on the blonde.

"Chris." Mary Travis smiled in pleasure. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied, staring at her with suspicion. He didn't want to deal with any women right now. Why was she here? What did she want? Probably wanting to make him another story for her paper. Her kind was alike – smile, act concerned, and when a man dropped his guard, they went for a kill.

"I wouldn't say you're fine with your injuries." A trace of disapproval showed on her face. "You were shot."

Mary's words brought back exactly what happened in clearer detail, and Chris Larabee hated himself and his weak heart for falling right into Caroline's trap. Part of him hated women for their conniving ways; an ugly voice in his mind whispered to just look at what women had cost him so far. The blonde near him had him throwing himself in harm's way for this town, and half of those precious townsfolk didn't appreciate it. His friends suffered right along with him, many of them getting their bodies filled with holes or broken, over and over again. Ma Nichols led her family to hurt his; Inez nearly got Buck killed with her troubles; Lydia dragged him into her problems; Caroline shot him with his own gun, and then there was the most treacherous bitch of all, Ella.

Cold hatred settled in his heart against all females. When he was on his feet, he'd hunt down Caroline Jamison and make her pay. Then, Ella Gaines; he'd put that off long enough. But before that, he had to cut ties with Mary Travis. She'd only hurt him . . . eventually.

"Chris?" she asked. "Are you all right?" Mary took a few steps closer.

"I'll be better when you leave," he snarled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Get out."

"Chris? "

"I don't want your company," he growled, his voice low and hard. His head turned away from her. He didn't see her face fall, nor the apologetic look Nathan gave her.

"I'll come back later," Mary stammered.

"Don't." He called after her as she left the room.

The door closed behind her.

"What's wrong with you?" Nathan asked.

Chris said nothing, closing his eyes.

The door flew open. "Mary said he's awake," Buck announced. "And meaner than a rattler."

"That's him." Nathan wiped his hands on a towel. "I'm getting some air." He walked out, pulling the wooden portal shut behind him.

Buck sat on the stool beside the bed. "Hell, pard, I'm glad to see you're with us again."

The eyes opened, meeting the concerned blue of Buck's. "Keep Mary away."

"Okay. Because of the one we have in the jail?"

"Tell me," Chris demanded, his voice growing hoarse.

"Vin and Ezra tracked a woman from your place. Says she's not involved."

He swallowed hard. "What's her name?"

"Mrs. Caroline Jamison," Buck replied, a sneer in his tone.

"She's lying." Chris watched one of the faces he trusted the most to watch his back darken. "You know?"

Buck nodded briskly. "Just needed your say so. We already got Judge Travis on the way."

"Good." He caught the wondering look. "I'm only telling it once."

"I'll get the others." Buck went out the door, and shortly thereafter all but JD came in. The youngest kept watch on their prisoner.

Chris stared at them, seeing the worry and concern in their faces, and the hard block of ice, he currently called his emotions, softened a little. Both Vin and Ezra looked like hell. "Boys," he said softly. "Thanks for going after her."

"She's the one, then?" Ezra asked. "If we are to deal with the outraged Sheriff of Eagle Bend, I'd prefer to know we captured the correct suspect."

"Caroline Jamison," he whispered.

"She's in jail, Chris," Vin assured him. "Ain't nobody bein' overly nice to her."

"I'm the fool."

"How'd she get the drop on ya? Snuck up while ya were sleepin'?" Tanner studied his friend.

"Mrs. Jamison and I have a history, boys, but I don't understand why she did this." Chris truly did not understand; she wasn't making sense. They'd agreed that things weren't right at the time for either of them, and ended on an up note. He'd promised to come back and see her eventually, which he did. Seeing her show up in town made him think they might have a chance, especially after how well they got along. His mind was having a hard time wrapping around her standing there telling him he killed her husband, her drugging and shooting him, only hours after they made love.

"Not right in the head?" Buck made a circular motion with his finger around his temple.

"I don't know anymore," he said quietly.

A hurried knock on the door interrupted the conversation, followed by the whirlwind known as Casey Wells poking her head in. "Sheriff Stains and James Lightfoot are here. Along with a bunch of men." She left the door open, heading back downstairs.

"Aw, hell," Vin muttered.

Part Six

Once again, Sheriff Stains found himself riding into this particular town to carry out fair justice. The first visit was not satisfying, and he hoped this one would be better. He dismounted in front of the jail, James Lightfoot beside him, and walked inside.

That obnoxious kid stood the duty. His hands fell on his guns, and the Easterner challenged them, "Help you?"

"Yes. You'll open that cell to allow me in to speak with my client," James Lightfoot declared. "And then you'll wait outside while I confer with her."

Stains barely hid his smile when he saw the indecision in the younger man's eyes. Both knew the Easterner had to accede to the request, but his duty not to leave was also paramount. "I'll make sure she doesn't leave," Eagle Bend's sheriff offered.

"Reckon if we're all standing here, she won't accidentally escape," Vin said from the doorway.

"I'm insulted by your implication," Lightfoot replied.

"Ya wanna do somethin' about it?"

Stains sighed, knowing that it was going to come to blows soon enough.

"At the moment," Lightfoot sighed, "No. But Judge Travis will hear of your unjust treatment."

Stains said, "You took her without cause, boys. That's kidnapping."

"She's been identified by the victim," Buck spoke up, sliding past Vin to get in the Sheriff's face. "Little Miss Innocent isn't so sweet anymore." His glare hit Caroline Jamison dead center.

She said nothing, showed no emotion, just standing inside the bars.

Stains nearly grinned when she didn't flinch at the big man's attempt to intimidate her. "Guess Larabee's too mean to die." He hitched his fingers on his gun belt.

Buck wheeled and glared at Stains. "Watch your mouth or I'll punch it for you. You're in our town now."

"Gentlemen, please. I would like to confer with my client," Lightfoot interjected. "In private."

Stains motioned to the door. "After you."

Buck narrowed his eyes. He pointed to the door. "No, after you. This is our town, remember?"

It was a power play, pure and simple, and Stains decided to go along with it. "Lightfoot, I'll be outside." He preceded Buck and JD, leaving Lightfoot alone with the woman.

"You have no jurisdiction here," Buck once again challenged Stains, once they stepped outside.

"You didn’t have jurisdiction when you boys yanked her off the stage," Stains replied evenly. The other townsfolk from Eagle Bend moved to make a half-circle outside of the jail. "Seems to me you were still in my territory," he continued.

Buck got right in the Sheriff’s face. "I was in your territory? Ezra, was I in this man’s territory, or is he talking through his sock? I don’t remember leaving this town."

"I don’t recall that you did," Standish replied. "However, since I was fetching a fugitive on the run I couldn’t attest to your whereabouts. How about you, Mr. Dunne? Was Mr. Wilmington in Eagle Bend’s territory?" He turned to the youngest.

"Nope. But I sure think they’re trespassing in ours," JD retorted. "Wanna leave before we arrest you for trespassing?" He offered a cocky grin.

Stains returned the grin. "Can’t arrest me for that, Kid. And since you’re so interested in my face, pretty boy, use your eyes and read this." He held a paper up to eye level for Wilmington.

Buck snatched it. "What’s this hooey?"

"Buck?" Vin asked softly.

The expression on his face showed his distaste. "Travis says Stains and his deputies will assist in guarding the prisoner."

"To be fair," Stains remarked, a smirk covering his face. "Since your townspeople might get riled up at the prisoner, we're gonna make sure she gets a fair trial, just like you did for us."

Eagle Bend residents chuckled at the reversing of positions.

The protectors exchanged glances. It was obvious they didn't like it, but it was now payback time for Eagle Bend.

"Well, Mrs. Jamison, I see I'm your attorney again."

"I'll pay you for my defense."

"That's all right, Ma'am, because the town of Eagle Bend wants to see you properly defended. There is not much love lost between our township and this heathen den of ruffians. Our citizens are in an uproar over the way you were abducted off the stage, without due process."

"I didn't appreciate it either, Mr. Lightfoot. Nor did I like being bound to my horse so I couldn't move, and gagged. That odious wild man Mr. Tanner even threatened to shoot me."

"They didn't! He actually threatened to shoot you?"

"They did, sir, and yes, he most assuredly did."

Lightfoot cleared his throat. "We will handle that when the Judge arrives. Until then, I have a request."

"Yes?"

"I'll need you to tell me everything."

"You want to know whether or not I shot Chris Larabee?"

"No. I want you to walk me through how you met Chris Larabee until your unfortunate removal from the stage. I'll let you know where to stop."

"What about the protectors here?"

"Well, Mrs. Jamison, I do believe the men of Eagle Bend will be taking part in making sure you are not alone with any of the protectors. Now, tell me how you met Chris Larabee."

"What's going on?" Chris demanded of Josiah as soon as he entered Nathan's clinic.

"Stains and Lightfoot arranged for their people to assist in guarding Mrs. Jamison through Judge Travis."

"What?" Larabee tried to sit up.

Nathan pushed him back down. "You're not getting up."

"Like hell." Chris sat up for three seconds before the dizziness put him flat. Drawing his hand up to massage his now pounding head he rasped out, "No one . . . sees . . . me like this."

"We'll tend the flocks, brother. Just get yourself well."

Cursing, Chris let his eyes close. It galled him to be brought down this way, especially by a woman. Now he had the added embarrassment of the citizens of Eagle Bend being dragged into what he wanted to keep as his private business. His hatred of women grew stronger. He could feel it, a burning rage slowly filling his soul. What he could not remember was Cyrus Jamison. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, adding to his considerable anger. This situation was driving him mad.

Part Seven

Dubbed the strangest trial of the year, everyone turned out for the legal entertainment. At stake was a woman's freedom, and if Josiah could prove everything was planned, it was possible Caroline Jamison might hang. Sanchez was chosen as the prosecutor because Ezra was testifying as a witness, and there was a certain irony in reversing the roles of Lightfoot and Sanchez.

Again, firearms were not allowed in the courtroom, this time the Eagle Bend folk watching their weapons, while the protectors oversaw theirs. The jury consisted of six townsfolk and six Eagle Bend residents. Lightfoot won that argument because precedent was set before, with an interest toward fairness. Unlike the previous time, none of the seven sat on the jury – Lightfoot had them excluded because he claimed they could not be impartial.

That did nothing to endear him to the seven protectors, but Travis had to agree. It was a case that required balanced handling, and he had to make concessions to the defense. He did squash the motion to move the trial to Eagle Bend, mostly because he felt safer here, and he was at least reassured that the residents here had not attempted to hang the defendant.

Chris sat behind Josiah, his nerves already raw from facing the smirking men from Eagle Bend. He refused to look at Caroline, or anyone else, with the exception of Judge Travis. His body felt like a stagecoach ran over him, but steadfastly refused to show any weakness before these people. In fact, he'd turned down the wheeled chair Nathan tried putting him into, telling the healer that the weaker he looked, the more likely someone would try something stupid to see if they could.

That stubbornness, however, wouldn't stop the pain. It took a considerable amount of willpower to remain upright and not list to one side. The sling was extremely uncomfortable, and his wrapped torso only added to the misery. He knew he needed to rest, that he was pushing himself, but this was too important. Judge Travis had offered to postpone until he was better, but Chris wanted this done quickly. Part of him wanted to lie down and sleep for several days, but that was not going to happen. The wall of hate he wore as both a badge and a cloak of protection kept everyone at a distance; the only ones he let near were his six friends.

Vin sat beside him, and for some reason, Chris could feel his friend trying to give him strength just by being there. He appreciated it greatly. Vin had been there every day, sitting silently at his bedside, tossing cards at him, or just listening when Chris felt like ranting about the horrors of women. The others had been there off and on, too, but it seemed that Vin tried extra hard to be there when the others weren't, or at his weakest moments. Now he was here at the trial. He hoped it would be mercifully quick.

"Mr. Sanchez," Travis said, you may give your opening statement."

Josiah stood. "Your Honor, members of the jury, I intend to show Mrs. Caroline Jamison inflicted grievous harm on Chris Larabee. She shot him twice, in his place, with his gun, and left him to die. She did this without soul or conscience, and has not shown any remorse." He sat.

"Mr. Lightfoot?"

He rose to his feet. "Chris Larabee murdered my client's husband. Sixteen months later, Chris Larabee seduced my client."

"Your Honor!" Josiah was on his feet only one sentence into the opening statement.

Travis held up a hand. "Mr. Lightfoot, murder is a serious accusation. Do you have proof that Chris Larabee committed a crime?"

"Yes, sir. I have a copy of the judge's ruling involving Chris Larabee and Cyrus Jamison, the former responsible for the latter's death."

Chris drew back in his seat. He didn't remember any charges or trial, at least not that he attended. Yes, he'd killed some men that attacked him first, or challenged him to a gunfight, but he'd never been charged or arrested.

Low murmurs filled the grain exchange-turned-courtroom.

He could feel silent condemnation and suspicion from those around him. Defending himself now without knowing all the facts would be pointless.

"Mr. Lightfoot, at this point I will ask you to present that information during your defense. Please continue with your opening statement."

"Yes, Your Honor." Lightfoot cleared his throat. "After Mr. Larabee seduced my client into a secret liaison without following proper courting decorum, he caused an armed intruder to enter my client's home and shoot her in her bed. She nearly died from those injuries. But that was not enough, no, sir. Chris Larabee ruined my client's reputation, robbed her of her respectability, and sent her down a path of degradation and poverty. His actions caused my client to lose everything she cherished – her husband, her status, her home, her dignity, her relatives, and two things most dear to her – her life, and part of her mind. All this misery and suffering lies squarely on the shoulders of Chris Larabee."

The whispers continued, along with scattered applause from the Eagle Bend residents. Specifically, the ones that lost the fair fight last time.

Chris simmered. Lightfoot was twisting the truth to suit his purposes. Yes, he'd been with Caroline, but it was a mutual attraction, not a seduction. Yes, that kid came into the house and fired, but he objected to the term - armed intruder. He really didn't like the mention of the murder charge at the beginning, which he didn't remember, and he wondered at the degradation. He vaguely remembered her saying something about having to work on her back, but he couldn't pull the memory back clearly. In the time they were together here, he didn't see any traces of her losing her mind. Caroline seemed just fine until that morning.

All of it just made him mad. He could feel the eyes on him, almost clearly hearing the low comments and speculations. A glance at Caroline showed her worry and concern over the trial, or at least her great act.

"He's exaggeratin'," Vin whispered.

It did him good to hear his friend make the same assumption he had from Lightfoot's inflammatory remarks.

Judge Travis cleared his throat. "Mr. Sanchez, your first witness."

"Vin Tanner."

"Tell the court the circumstances of your trip to Mr. Larabee's cabin."

"I was getting ready fer patrol when Miz Travis tells me a Pinkerton detective was tryin' ta find out if Chris lived here. 'Fore she replied, she wanted Chris ta know and see what he wanted her ta do." He continued, "When I got ta Larabee's, he didn't come out. Somethin' felt wrong, so I went in."

"What did you find?"

"Chris lyin' on the floor covered in blood."

"His blood?"

"Yup. He had two bullet holes in him."

"What did you do?"

"Got him on a horse and brought him right ta Nathan."

"Then?"

"Rode back ta the cabin with Ezra. Found the bed soaked with blood, barn door open, and livestock loose, with female boot prints."

"Female bootprints?"

"Yup. Followed them ta a spread where the farmer told us a woman came through lookin' fer directions. Got a description – weren't much of one – and kept followin'."

"Where did you end up?"

"Eagle Bend. Talked ta Miz Jamison and she admitted ta stopping at Larabee's."

"Did she say what she did at Chris Larabee's?"

"Gave us a story about seein' men ridin' away from his place."

"Were you able to prove any of this?"

Vin shook his head. "Only tracks leaving were hers and mine."

"Did she give you any problems when you transported her back to town?"

"She was very difficult. Insultin' and rude, tried ta slow us down."

Josiah nodded, then sat down.

"Mr. Tanner," Lightfoot stood and approached the witness chair. "Are you a close friend of Mr. Larabee's?"

"Reckon so." He gave Chris a grin, which was returned.

"Did he ever mention Caroline Jamison to you?"

"No."

"Cyrus Jamison?"

"Nope."

"He didn't tell you, his close friend, about murdering Cyrus Jamison and consequently ruining Caroline Jamison?"

"Don't see Chris killin' anybody that didn't bring it on themselves." Vin's tone was hard and cold.

"Objection," Josiah said, "regarding the matter of Cyrus Jamison's demise."

Travis gave the defense attorney a hard glare. "Mr. Lightfoot, I instructed you to present the information on Cyrus Jamison's death during your defense."

"Your Honor, cross-examination is a part of my client's defense. As such, I will bring it up during cross."

"Mr. Lightfoot keeps referencing an incident neither His Honor nor the prosecution have knowledge of," Josiah argued, "accusing Chris Larabee of a crime. He is not on trial here."

"I agree," Travis said.

"While I sympathize with Mr. Larabee's current plight, it was his own actions that brought about his injuries," Lightfoot retorted.

"Are you saying your client's guilty, Mr. Lightfoot?"

"Absolutely not, Your Honor."

"Do you have any other questions for Mr. Tanner that do not relate to this alleged murder?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Then get to them."

"Mr. Tanner, you stated Mrs. Jamison informed you of riders leaving Mr. Larabee's place?"

"Yup."

"Did you ride back and check her information?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Weren't any tracks other than mine and hers."

"Could they have been intentionally covered?"

"Nope. There weren't any."

"You're absolutely certain?"

"Yup."

"So you ignored the possibility my client presented?"

"Reckon we got the guilty party."

"Guilt has not been proven. Did you detain the stage carrying my client?"

"We kept her from leavin' the Territory."

"Did you have a warrant or a wanted poster?"

"Not yet. We wired Judge Travis fer it 'fore we left Eagle Bend."

"So you halted a stage and removed my client, bringing her here against her will and putting her in jail without any written cause?"

"Chris named her when he woke."

"Was she easy to bring back?"

"She fought the entire way. Innocent folk don't fight that way."

"Did you tie her to the horse, gag her, and threaten to shoot her?"

"I treated her like any other prisoner bein' brought back and resistin'. The threat was a reminder ta her not ta be stupid and try ta escape."

"You threatened to shoot an unarmed, handcuffed female?"

"I told a prisoner that her nonsense wasn't gonna be tolerated. She was comin' here, and that was that." Vin's anger showed on his face at the way he was being questioned about his treatment of her. She spat on him too, but that didn't seem to matter. "She spat on me."

"My client was abducted off a stage by two men she didn't know and forced to go with them. She was scared and tried to hold onto her dignity while being manhandled and tossed about like a sack of feed." Lightfoot paused to let that sink in. "Did she seem right in the head?"

"Anyone that shoots a man in his bed with his gun and leaves him ta die ain't right in the head." His eyes widened after he said it, realizing he gave Lightfoot a little bit of confirmation to whatever he was doing.

"Did you see my client shoot Chris Larabee?"

"No."

"Thank you. Mr. Sanchez?"

Josiah stood again. "The only tracks you found belonged to you and to her, correct?"

"Yup."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"Nope."

"You checked?"

"Yup."

"She didn't want to come back with you?"

"Nope."

"She fought?"

"Yup."

"So you restrained her?"

"Yup."

"Prevented her from running away?"

"Yup."

"And issued a statement of fact that if she ran, she would be considered a fugitive and could be shot for her fleeing?"

"Yup."

Chris felt frustrated. Not only had he been accused – again – of murder, he still didn't know the details. His body ached, he was tired, and it was costing him greatly to remain upright.

Lightfoot had muddled the waters with Caroline's story, and some jurors looked thoughtful. He'd seen some outrage when Vin discussed pulling her off the stage without formal paperwork, and more about the threat to shoot her. Knowing Caroline, she made it as hard as possible for Vin, and he was forced into those actions. But of course, she was a woman, and Tanner was a man of the wilderness. The jurors would have sympathy for her rough treatment. The only thing that might help was what was about to happen.

Swallowing hard, he watched Ezra settle in the witness seat.

"Please tell the court what you found at Chris Larabee's place."

"Mr. Tanner and I determined Mr. Larabee had been in bed when he was shot. He had recently eaten and drank whiskey-laced coffee, ascertained by the dishes found by the bed. His gun was located near the front door. It had been recently fired and not cleaned."

"What did this tell you?"

"He knew his attacker well enough to let his gun out of his sight. Mr. Larabee and his gun are rarely parted."

That brought a few nods from the crowd.

Chris managed a weak smile.

"Was there signs of a struggle?"

"No. Only proof Mr. Larabee was shot in his bed with his gun. He'd made it to the floor where Mr. Tanner found him."

"Do you believe he trusted his attacker?"

"Most assuredly."

"Why?"

"Not to be indelicate, but Mr. Larabee's state of undress."

"Did you see any tracks leaving Chris Larabee's place?"

"Mr. Tanner's, heading back to town, and one set toward Eagle Bend."

"When you followed them, where did they lead?"

"To a farmhouse along the way, where we were told a lady asked for directions, and then to Eagle Bend."

"When you spoke with Mrs. Jamison there, did she admit to being at Chris Larabee's place?"

"Yes. She stated she stopped for directions. According to her, no one answered her so she left without entering."

"Did Mrs. Jamison say she knew Chris Larabee?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"She stated he was a patron of a restaurant she was employed at and tipped well."

"That's all she said about her relationship with Chris Larabee?"

"Yes."

"Nothing of a more personal nature?"

"She acted outraged about the implications of any impropriety between them."

Josiah nodded. "When you stopped the stage and removed Mrs. Jamison, did you believe she was guilty?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She's an excellent liar."

"Objection!" Lightfoot shot to his feet.

"Mr. Standish, I'll ask for proof of your allegation," Travis requested.

"Mrs. Jamison was not truly surprised when informed of Mr. Larabee's injuries; she acted surprised, but it was not genuine."

"Based upon?"

"I am a gambler, sir. I have extensive knowledge in reading people, and knowing their tells."

Several townsfolk coughed and covered their mouths.

"She also lied about the other riders; her left eye drooped every time she spoke an untruth."

"Thank you. Mr. Sanchez, any further questions?" Travis turned back to the prosecutor.

"No, Your Honor."

"Mr. Lightfoot?"

"Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Standish, did you at any time investigate Mrs. Jamison's statement about seeing riders?"

"No. There were no tracks. Therefore, there were no riders."

"Then it's a possibility that was overlooked?"

"No. Mr. Larabee named Mrs. Jamison as his heinous attacker."

"Only after she had been pulled from the stage, handcuffed, tied to her horse, threatened to be shot, and dragged back here without that supposed identification at the time?"

"Mrs. Jamison was less than cooperative when we brought her back. She was duly informed of the consequences of trying to run away from us. As peacekeepers, we are given the court's permission to use force."

"If you were handcuffed, threatened to be shot, and tied to a horse, would you be cooperative?"

"Mrs. Jamison's on trial, not me." Ezra leaned back in the seat, almost looking bored with the proceedings.

"Which begs the next question: have you ever told a lie in the interest of self-preservation?"

"Objection," Josiah interjected.

"Different question. Mr. Standish, did you see my client shoot Chris Larabee?"

"No."

"Did she admit to shooting Chris Larabee?"

"No."

"Did he ever mention to you about knowing Caroline or Cyrus Jamison?"

"No."

"Thank you. Mr. Sanchez?"

"Mr. Standish, you saw no other tracks?"

"No."

"Chris Larabee was shot twice in his bed with his gun?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Jamison did admit to being at Chris Larabee's?"

"Yes."

"She admitted she knew him?"

"Yes."

"You advised her of the consequences of trying to run from you, after her considerable struggles and attempts to slow you down during the journey back?"

"Yes. Mrs. Jamison would try the patience of a saint."

Mary's testimony was next. It was brief. Josiah pointed out the Pinkerton detective's visit and the timing of the shooting compared to her correspondence with the nearby editor. He had Mary admit that if she had gotten the information earlier, there was a chance Chris would have been on guard against something happening. Lightfoot showed no one knew who hired the detective, thereby raising doubt, that it was Mrs. Jamison who employed him. They recessed for the afternoon meal.

Throughout it all, Chris grew more tired. He needed rest. Only his force of will kept him sitting upright through the pain, aches, and weariness. He would not show weakness to anyone if he could help it. Let them think he was recovering quickly, too stubborn to stay down. Let them believe that illusion; the truth was he was weak and needed sleep.

Regarding the trial, once he testified she'd be found guilty. Right now, he wanted it over. Josiah told him he was next when they returned, so he stretched out in Nathan's clinic and closed his eyes. Vin sat with him, keeping watch. All too soon, he was awakened to return to court.

Part Eight

"Tell us what happened," Josiah requested.

"Caroline – Mrs. Jamison – came up to me on the street. She stepped out of an alley. We started talking, renewing our old friendship, and decided to leave. We wanted to find a place more private to talk, so she agreed to go out to my place. The morning she shot me, I woke to find she'd made me breakfast. She was talking to me . . . accusing me of things and I was confused by what she was saying and very tired; it was hard to stay awake. That's when I saw her pointing my gun at me. I realized a little late she had drugged me, then I started to pass out."

"She had your gun aimed at you?"

Chris nodded. "She talked crazy, accusing me of killing her husband . . . then she shot me . . . twice."

"In your bed while you were drugged?"

"Yes. I passed out then."

"Were you ever romantically involved with Mrs. Jamison?"

Chris nodded briskly. "Long time ago."

"Have you spoken with her, or had any contact with her, since that last time you saw her until she came here?"

"No."

"Did your romance end well?"

"No romance ends well, but I thought we were friends."

"Was there a scandal involved?"

Chris winced. Josiah told him he would bring it up first to show Chris wasn't hiding anything, but Larabee still didn't like it. His past was his business, not anyone else's. Especially not in a trial and for public consumption. There was no help for it, though; either he admitted to it first and gave his version, or he looked like he was hiding something and Lightfoot would twist everything around. He wasn't a coward, so he agreed. After a long pause, he sighed and said, "Yes, there was a scandal."

"Tell us about it."

He saw them all leaning forward to listen, to judge for themselves, to talk about it for months on end, and he glared at them. This was his life, not their entertainment. None of the other protectors seemed judgmental; he saw respect in their faces. Locking eyes with Vin, he sensed peace and acceptance. Instead of talking to Josiah, Caroline, Judge Travis, or Lightfoot, he spoke directly to Vin. They'd shared so much, and, if he concentrated, he could block out everyone else.

"I met her in the restaurant where she worked. We got along, so I courted her. She accepted, and eventually things moved past courting. A kid looking to make a name came to town."

He shifted his piercing gaze to JD. "All mouth, no skill. Challenged me to a gunfight. Told him to go home, but he called me a coward. I faced him, but only shot to wound. Put a hole in his shooting arm. Too stupid to leave, he followed me that night. Broke into Caroline's place and started shooting. I shot back and killed him."

Chris looked at Vin again. "Caroline took a bullet because of it. I rode hard, with her to the nearest town with a doctor. Afterwards, when the story came out, things got ugly. Because she's a widow and we weren't married, the town and her family cast her out. When she recovered a bit, I helped her set up somewhere new and stayed until she healed enough to get by, posing as her brother-in-law."

He took a deep breath. "I left her because we agreed the timing wasn't right . . . for us. When I went back, she'd moved because of the past, again. Hadn't seen her since."

"Did you look for her?" Josiah asked.

"No. If she started over, I didn't want her to suffer again, bring things better off buried back to the surface."

"Did you ever meet Cyrus Jamison?"

"Not to my recollection."

"What did Mrs. Jamison tell you about her husband?"

"He'd been murdered. There were no suspects."

"Did she plan to find his killer?"

"Yes."

"And do what?"

"Kill him."

Gasps filled the courtroom.

"She planned to murder her husband's killer if she found him?"

"Yes."

"She believed you killed her husband?"

"That’s what she claimed at my place, yes, after she drugged me."

"She tried to murder you?"

"Nearly succeeded."

"Mr. Lightfoot?"

"Thank you, Mr. Sanchez. Mr. Larabee, did you ever pass through a town called Pepper Springs?"

Chris thought for a moment. "Don't remember that town."

"Sheriff Michaels sound familiar?"

"No."

"What about a man asking directions to Texas from you outside a mining tent town?"

Chris remembered him. He was tall, big as an ox, and mean to the bone. His horse was whipped badly and malnourished. The man's clothes were threadbare in places, but his body better fed than most men. First was the request for directions, followed by the demand for Chris's money at gunpoint.

"He pulled a gun on me, tried to rob me. We shot at the same time."

"A man asked you for directions and you shoot him?"

"He tried to shoot me first."

"So you killed him."

"Yes."

"Did anyone see this exchange?"

"No."

"No one else witnessed this supposed robbery attempt?"

"I already said no."

"Did you notify anyone of this supposed robbery attempt?"

"Rode to town and talked to the sheriff."

"Did you search the body at any time?"

"No. Left that for the sheriff."

"Did anyone see you talk to the sheriff?"

"No."

"No one but you can say that the man you killed, Cyrus Jamison, pulled a gun on you?"

"That was Cyrus Jamison?" Chris was shocked as what Lightfoot was saying became clear to him. He felt a churning in his stomach. That man – an armed robber – was Caroline's husband? How? He spared her a glance, and sure enough, she was crying. The cynical part of him thought it was a nice touch for Judge and jury.

"Yes Mr. Larabee," Lightfoot gloated. "The man you claimed you didn’t know. The man you shot was Cyrus Jamison."

The gunslinger shook his head in disbelief. He could not picture the large brute of a man he barely recalled as Caroline's husband.

"No," Chris denied. "I didn’t know him. He tried to rob and shoot me. I was the better shot. But I did report it to the law."

"Then you left before the sheriff checked out your story."

"The sheriff had a gunfight to stop; he wasn’t concerned with something that already happened. He told me I could leave. Said there'd been a rash of robberies and the description matched. Said I might have done him a favor."

Caroline gasped, then sobbed harder.

Chris glared at her.

"Did you ever go back or wire to make sure everything had been checked?"

"No."

"So you killed this man that allegedly tried to rob you, and you killed a kid that broke into a house. How many people have you killed?"

"Objection!"

"Different question. Would it surprise you to know the sheriff was killed in that gunfight he was trying to stop?"

Chris closed his eyes. "Yes, it would." Lightfoot just made him admit to killing Caroline's husband. With that sheriff dead, there was no one to support his claim.

"Your Honor," Josiah interrupted, "Mr. Larabee was the victim of a shooting by Mrs. Jamison. His past actions are not on trial."

"They are when he admits to killing Mrs. Jamison's husband, making her a widow, and forcing her to sell their homestead because of it," Lightfoot retorted. "All of which has direct bearing on her actions."

"He defended himself against a robber, reporting it immediately to the law."

"Who was killed shortly thereafter," Lightfoot continued to argue. "There was no one left alive but Mr. Larabee that could speak truthfully about what occurred. No one to care about Cyrus Jamison that this man shot down." Lightfoot pointed accursedly at Chris. "A man whose body was left unattended in the elements for five days. When the matter was finally looked into by authorities, it became an unsolved murder."

It sickened Chris to hear that – all because he didn't stay in town to make sure things were handled. He'd been itching to get on his way, and this was the price he paid for it. He knew what happened to a body in five days, and what was left wasn't fit for a grieving spouse to see. A measure of sympathy filled him for her; she'd never told him that part. Caroline was crying, and in a way, he thought he deserved her tears. He'd killed her no-good husband, just like she said . . . but the man deserved it. It didn't excuse her from what she did to him. She'd shot him in cold blood after drugging him, taking the law in her own hands and meting out her own justice. Travis took a dim view to that.

Judge Travis spoke. "Mr. Lightfoot, you stated you had a copy of a ruling from a Judge about this. I'd like to see it."

"Of course." Lightfoot handed several papers over, watching Judge Travis read it.

"Chris Larabee, Judge Sylvester Franklin issued a ruling." He cleared his throat and read, "Regarding the demise of Cyrus Jamison, Chris Larabee is named the responsible party. After over two years of investigation, Sheriff Rodney Michaels recovered documents from the late Mrs. Percy Thatch, widow of the slain Sheriff Thatch. These documents describe an account of attempted robbery of Chris Larabee and his subsequent killing of the robber, now identified as Cyrus Jamison, in self-defense." Travis shuffled through the papers. "Seems Sheriff Michaels reopened the investigation upon Mrs. Thatch's passing when he located Sheriff Thatch's paperwork among her personal effects. He kept a journal of events in the course of his duties, the last entry before that fatal gunfight. Comparison of the journal with unsolved cases resulted in the identities of the parties involved in this unsolved case. Naming Chris Larabee as the shooter, and Cyrus Jamison as the robber/victim. The Judge rules, 'it is the opinion of the court that the death of Cyrus Jamison was justified'." Travis looked at Chris. "Were you aware of any of this inquiry?"

"No, sir."

"Mr. Lightfoot, you may continue questioning, but the matter and manner of Cyrus Jamison's death is now off-limits."

"Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Larabee, were you aware of Mrs. Caroline Jamison before meeting her in the restaurant?"

"No." His mind still reeled from the ruling he knew nothing about.

"After you helped Mrs. Jamison resettle because you ruined her reputation, you stated you went back to see her and found she had moved, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did those townspeople tell you they drove her out with only what she could carry on her horse?"

"No."

"That the next town she came to told her to pass through?"

"No."

"Because of a newspaper reprinting of your scandal, every town she went to told her to keep moving? Mr. Larabee, were you aware she could not find honest work?"

"No." He knew where this was going. A small part of him hurt for what happened to her. She'd told him when she shot him, but he'd forgotten or made himself forget until this moment. One because he knew he didn’t want to remember it, and for another reason because of her drugging him muddling his brain.

"Your Honor." Josiah stood. "Chris Larabee has already said he's had no contact with Mrs. Jamison until she came here."

"Mr. Lightfoot, ask questions that the witness knows something about," Travis ruled.

"Yes, Your Honor. When you first saw Mrs. Jamison here, what was her mood?"

"Cheerful, teasing."

"Did you shun her?"

"No."

"Did she tell you why she was here?"

"Said she'd been lost, stopped here for the night."

"Does she get lost easily?"

"Yes."

"Did you or she suggest your place out of town?"

"I did," he admitted.

"At night, you take a woman who gets lost easily out of town to your place?"

Chris nodded. He was still trying to figure out Lightfoot's strategy with these questions. His testimony already proved Caroline was a liar about asking for directions because he said they were together voluntarily.

"When you were together before, did Mrs. Jamison have a habit of forgetting things?"

Chris frowned and thought, "Sometimes. Little things."

"Little things?" Lightfoot questioned. "Can you be more specific?"

Shrugging, Chris thought then answered, "When I'd walk her home from the restaurant, she'd forget her handbag or her bonnet."

"So she was in the habit of forgetting things?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you ever ask her to do something and she'd forget?"

"She's human. A little more cold blooded than the rest of us, but she's human. People forget things all the time. I didn't forget her shooting me."

"Regarding the shooting that nearly cost my client her life, caused by your reputation, did she remember what happened when she woke?"

"No. I told her."

"Did she remember then?"

"No."

"During her recovery, did she ever remember those events?"

He saw it then – Lightfoot intended to show Caroline didn't remember shooting him by using her ability to block out bad things, and he would be supporting that defense. Her continually getting lost and needing directions was a way to solidify her lack of memory and flightiness. Lightfoot used all of it to show her mind was unstable, especially when confronted with something she couldn't handle. Even making up a story about stopping at his place and asking directions would not seem calculated, but something an addled, confused mind might do, mixing up events as they happened. One glance at Vin told him the tracker remembered his own comments that added to this, giving a tiny shake of the head in disgust at the situation.

"Mr. Larabee, did Caroline Jamison ever remember those events?"

"Not to my knowledge." He braced himself for more questions that would continue to show her mental instability to the jury. Chris didn't honestly believe she was loco, but she was putting on one hell of an act.

"You stated the day you were shot my client talked crazy. How so?"

Yup, there it was. "She kept telling me I murdered her husband. That I'd deliberately set out to ruin her. I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"NO!" Chris yelled. He was halfway standing and glaring hard at Lightfoot. His body protested his vehemence and reminded him of his weakness, by sending searing pains through him. His breaths came in sharp gasps, and perspiration beaded on his forehead. He saw Josiah about to stand and shook his head no.

"You killed her husband, nearly had her killed, ruined her, turned her into a working girl, yet did nothing to correct this. Do you believe all this would make a man seek revenge? What about this woman who lost everything because of you?"

"That's enough, Mr. Lightfoot," Travis bellowed. "Your questioning is done. Mr. Sanchez, do you have any questions?"

"Just one. Chris Larabee, did Caroline Jamison shoot you twice and leave you to die?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Larabee, you're excused. Mr. Sanchez, do you have any other witnesses?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Then court will resume tomorrow morning with Mr. Lightfoot's defense."

"Hell of a day," Vin said. He and Chris had left the saloon and stood at the corral. Both needed to be away from people, Chris especially.

"Yup."

"They'll find her guilty."

"Will they?"

"Ain't no question she shot ya. All the horse dung about bein' crazy ain't gonna help."

"Might save her from a hanging."

"In exchange fer life in prison."

"That might be better than the life I've caused her. I didn't know his name. Killed him, and didn't even stop to find out who he was. Just told the sheriff and went about my business. Didn't care."

"Weren't more ya could do. If someone just tried ta rob me, I'd be movin' on right quick. No tellin' if he had friends."

"Just a widow. I didn't stick around to make sure the body was found. That's my fault. She didn't know for so long, Vin. I know how that feels. It tears you up inside. Being a woman, she had even less choices than a man does."

"Chris, beatin' yerself up about it ain't gonna help. It's done. Now we're moving on."

His friend took a deep breath, then winced. "Never thanked you for coming out. Much obliged."

"Jest deliverin' a message. Was gonna see if I could come out for a spell, truth be told. Couldn't stand the town after so long in it. Still can't."

Chris smirked. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you stopped by."

"I ain't gonna let ya die that easy, cowboy. We've got too much to do."

"Like what?"

"Ya gotta get well enough ta find out."

"You're on."

Part Nine

"What happened when you received word of your husband's death?" Lightfoot asked his client, who was now taking her turn on the stand.

"My brother told me I fainted," Caroline replied.

"Then what?"

"I don't remember anything for about three days, but I know I was forced to sell our home."

"Why was your husband in Pepper Springs?"

"He told me a man owed him some money and was paying him back in gold."

"Did you ever see that gold?"

"No. They told me they buried him there because it was …messy. I received his empty wallet and his ring."

"Were you aware of the accusations against your husband?"

"Absolutely not. Cyrus was so sweet to me."

"Once you sold your home, what did you do?"

"My brother was kind enough to employ me. I worked for him well over a year."

"Then you met Chris Larabee?"

Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "He was so charming. I'd been alone so long, and he'd lost his family too, so he understood how I felt. Especially with both of us not knowing who took our families away."

Chris made a fist. He didn't like reminders of losing the two most important people to him, and he cared even less for her showing similarities between them.

"Easy, Chris," Vin whispered.

He forced himself to unclench his hand and listen.

"When you were shot and nearly killed because of Chris Larabee's reputation, your life changed for the worse again?"

"Yes." Heaving a heartfelt sigh, Caroline continued her explanation, "I was told either leave town or come back as a working girl. My family turned their backs on me. Chris helped me move and find a new job. A fresh start."

"What happened?"

"The scandal kept catching up with me, and the good folk didn't want me around."

"Because of Chris Larabee's reputation?"

"I didn't know he was a famous gunfighter until later. Being linked with him was enough for me to be considered the bad element, too. I suddenly wasn’t fit to be around decent folk. I kept moving further and further away from everything I knew until my money ran out."

"Why didn't you change your name? Start over?"

"I thought about it, but it didn't feel right to lie."

Chris practically snorted.

She continued, "Besides, the scandal was so disreputable and only grew with Chris Larabee's own reputation. I couldn't tell you how many times I heard about his exploits, and then someone would remember the scandal, and then I had to leave. My name became almost synonymous with his. On top of it, I would be charged double for purchases, or given suggestive ways to settle my bills. It seemed everyone knew who I was, my situation, how desperate I was, and they knew I couldn't refuse."

"When the money ran out, what did you do?"

"I worked at a brothel playing piano. Pretty soon the owner told me either I started helping customers because a couple girls quit, or I was fired. The owner was influential, knew just about everyone, and said if he fired me or I quit, he'd make sure no one gave me a job in the Territory. I… I didn't have a choice."

The murmurs started again.

Chris didn't want to hear this, but he couldn't leave. He wouldn't – if the price for what he brought onto her with his actions was to listen and face the condemnation of his town, then he would. His own reputation was no better, the people already knew that, and it was partly the reason they went through this now.

"So you did what you had to?"

"Yes."

"Was it horrible?"

"Very." She cried softly to herself. "I didn’t want to do it . . . I resisted as long as I could. My employer was angry because I kept putting him off. When I finally gave in, forced into it by circumstances, he . . . he gave me to those with twisted tastes."

"You were beaten?"

"Yes."

"Your boss intentionally hired you out, against your will, to men that preferred violence?"

"Yes." Her voice broke, and she held a dainty handkerchief to her mouth.

"How many times?"

"Too many."

Chris was angry because he'd seen this before. It sickened him to know that something this horrible happened to her. He'd seen those with twisted tastes, and finding out that someone that he cared for became an unwilling slave to them churned his gut. Finding himself feeling sorry for her, he immediately stopped that train of thought. She shot him. She seduced him, got him alone, shot him, and left him to die. No matter what he did to her husband and reputation, she had no right to do what she did to him. No right at all.

Tell that to his heart that hurt for someone who suffered because of his actions. Even more conflicted and unhappy about it, Chris kept a straight face and tried to tell his traitorous heart to stop caring. He tuned back, listening to Lightfoot's questions, unsure what was asked during his mind wanderings.

"What were your injuries?"

"A broken hand, four broken ribs, and I had to keep working with those. A sprained ankle. I always had bruises everywhere. I was always in pain. My boss would charge me double for laudanum so I could sleep through the pain. I couldn't afford to keep taking it, and he cut me off when he thought I was getting addicted to it. Didn't like me getting so numb I couldn't feel…he liked me to feel…especially the pain. Once, I was thrown down the stairs to see if 'cats always land on their feet.' I landed hard on my head, and I don't remember anything for awhile after that."

"Do you remember being thrown down the stairs?"

"No."

"Did you keep your job?"

"No. I was fired because I was too injured to work. That and I bled in the greeting room. My boss took my money for damages, then made me clean it up once I woke up.

Several women gasped.

"What did you do then?"

"One of my – callers – took me in. Said he couldn't stand to see a woman treated in such a manner. While there, I saw the newspaper article about my husband's killing. I decided I wanted to see Sheriff Michaels and find out what happened to my husband for myself. Then I intended to see my brother for a loan. I couldn't take the life of a working girl anymore."

"So you left for Pepper Springs. What did your gentleman friend think?"

"He thought I deserved a chance to start over again. Gave me some money and supplies, told me to come see him if I ever needed anything."

"That was generous of him."

"He was wonderful to me. The only decent man I've met since my husband."

Chris narrowed his eyes when she glared right at him.

"He wasn't trying to ruin me."

"When you reached Pepper Springs, what did you find?"

"I got a copy of the Judge's ruling, and visited Cyrus's grave. Then I set out for my brother’s, but I got lost. . . I found myself here."

"Do you remember seeing Chris Larabee?"

"No."

"Going to his place?"

"No."

"Shooting Chris Larabee?"

"Oh, no." She started sobbing harder as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Thank you, my dear,” Lightfoot stood by the witness chair and patted her shoulder gently. He then looked up toward Josiah as if he were reluctant to continue. After he allowed her a moment more to compose herself, he nodded towards the prosecution table, “Mr. Sanchez?"

While Josiah stood, Chris took stock of the jury and those around him. He was disgusted. By the looks they were giving her, they were sympathetic toward her. Hell, he was feeling sympathetic and he was the victim. Seemed they had forgotten the reason they were there – because she tried to kill him. Looked to him like they needed to be reminded of it.

"Hell of an actress," Vin muttered.

"Yup," Chris replied.

Josiah approached the witness chair slowly. He spoke softly, his body posture relaxed and non-threatening, not wanting to appear to distress her any further. "Mrs. Jamison, did you plan to find Chris Larabee at any point?"

"I . . .I suppose eventually, I meant to."

"Why?"

"I wanted to talk to him. Hear his side of why he murdered my dear husband Cyrus."

"The Judge ruled it was justified. You said you obtained a copy of that report."

"I don't believe it."

"Why not?"

"Cyrus never committed a crime in his life. He wouldn't do that. He was committed to us, our future. We had such plans."

Chris scoffed.

"Don't make fun of me," Caroline cried. She pointed her finger at Chris. "It's all your fault."

"What's his fault?" Josiah asked.

"He did it all to me. I have nothing left because of him." Loud, racking sobs shook her body. "Nothing."

Josiah didn’t want to appear to badger her, but he didn’t want to let up. He wanted to see if she would let something slip. "Did you hire a Pinkerton detective to find Chris Larabee?"

"No," Caroline sniffed, pulling herself together. She dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief.

"Did you drug Chris Larabee?"

"I don't remember," she wailed.

"Yes, you did, or no, you didn't?"

"Yes, no, I don't know."

"Did you shoot Chris Larabee?"

"I don't remember," Caroline whimpered.

"Make up a story about getting lost and phantom riders to cover your guilt?"

"Your Honor." Lightfoot shot to his feet.

"I don't remember," she screamed. "Why can't you leave me alone? No one will leave me alone! They take, and take, and take until there's nothing left. You hear me, Chris Larabee? There's nothing left!" Her hysterical sobbing filled the near-silence.

"Mr. Sanchez, that's enough," Travis ordered. "Mr. Lightfoot, do you have any other questions?"

"None, Your Honor."

"Court will recess for thirty minutes. Mr. Lightfoot, I'll expect you to call your next witness."

"Your Honor, I would call some of the good citizens of Eagle Bend to testify to my client's instability, but I believe we've just seen proof of that. I believe I can rest my case."

"Closing arguments then, in thirty minutes," the Judge banged his gavel on top of the desk to punctuate his decree.

"She's good," Chris said to Vin. "Played that crazy part well."

Vin nodded. "Still guilty."

"Hope the jury sees it that way."

"They will. You and Josiah proved she did it."

Vin's optimism was good to hear.

No matter what happened to her, that didn't excuse her shooting him in his bed so long after what happened. He couldn't even shoot Ella, and she killed the two people that meant the most to him. If he saw Ella now, he'd still turn her over to Travis. It would tear him up to trust the justice for his family to another man's hands, but he couldn't live with himself any other way. Chris just wished that she could have done the same, or at least talked to him about it instead of taking out her revenge by seducing, drugging, and shooting him. It ended hurting them both again in so many ways.

Court was back in session.

"Mr. Sanchez?"

"Caroline Jamison has suffered. No one disputes the tragedies that have befallen her. But can we say with surety Chris Larabee drove her to try to kill him? Think how things happened, because that's why she's on trial. Caroline Jamison comes to town late at night but no one sees her arrive, or sees her in the town. She makes sure of this. Could she have known we'd just finished having a rough week and everyone was celebrating the quiet? If she had someone watching the town, she would have known that. Coincidentally, a week before a Pinkerton detective was paid good money to confirm the victim of this heinous crime – Chris Larabee – lived here."

Josiah stared at the jury. "No one else sees her, yet she finds Chris Larabee. But is it a meeting in the open. A joyous meeting of old friends. No, she only approaches Chris Larabee, by slinking out of an alley. They talk. Before anyone can see them, Caroline Jamison asks to go somewhere more private. Chris takes her out of town – not anywhere here, but out of town, telling no one he has female company. He wakes one morning to breakfast and coffee, eating both because he feels safe in her presence. In return, Caroline Jamison drugs him. She shoots him twice. In his bed. With his gun. He told us she did it. Only God's intervention through his messenger Vin Tanner saved his life."

He paced a few steps. "By then, Caroline Jamison was gone. Stops at a farmhouse for directions that she may or may not need, gets to Eagle Bend, and buys a ticket for the stage out of the area. She waits patiently. Meanwhile, Vin Tanner, a tracker of some repute, returns to Chris Larabee's place with Ezra Standish. They piece together some of what happened, and follow the only tracks they find – a woman and her horse – ending at Eagle Bend. Does she show fear, as we’ve been led to believe a woman of her delicate sensibilities might? No, nor does she show remorse. She does show cunning, though. She lies to them, drags two entire towns into her revenge, and now wants you to believe she's innocent. Or crazy."

Josiah faced the jury again. "Chris Larabee told you this woman drugged and shot him. The evidence supports his version, not hers. She admits knowing Chris Larabee, admits wanting to contact him. She lied to Ezra Standish and Vin Tanner in Eagle Bend. She brought an entire town in her wake, creating harder feelings where some already existed. She has an attorney that she probably cannot afford being paid for by good, hardworking citizens. Caroline Jamison has an answer for everything if you listened closely. A reason, an excuse, an explanation for every question that has been asked. If she cannot answer it, she pretends an affliction that she does not have. I have seen those with afflictions, and they do not act as clever as her. I believe she planned this all along for revenge, but she claims she can’t remember. Has she lost her mind? Possibly. Does losing her mind excuse her from responsibility in the shooting of a good man that has done much to protect this community? My answer's no. Search your heart and minds for your verdict."

Chris nodded to his friend in appreciation.

"My client, Caroline Jamison, has suffered. On this both Mr. Sanchez and I agree. You've heard her testimony, and that of Chris Larabee, detailing what she's endured. Vin Tanner and Ezra Standish both told you my client was difficult to handle. Mr. Tanner felt the need to threaten to shoot her because she was difficult. Chris Larabee himself said she talked crazy. His words – she talked crazy. He also said she didn't remember the shooting that nearly killed her. She testified she didn't remember the day she found out about her husband's death, or getting pushed down the stairs. You heard her say she doesn't remember Chris Larabee's shooting.

Lightfoot stared at the jury. "What do we know happened? Chris Larabee killed her husband. Losing a loved one is devastating, and grief makes some people crazy. Caroline Jamison lost her husband and her home. There were no suspects, no justice. In her grief, she swore she'd find her husband's killer and vowed to make him pay. Sixteen months later, she lost her newly mended heart in an overwhelming courtship – seduction, maybe – to Chris Larabee."

He paused. "That ended in tragedy. His fierce reputation drew a youngster, who knew nothing of fighting honorably, nearly killing Caroline Jamison in her home. The incident created a scandal that follows her to this day. Chris Larabee did more than he needed to – he set her up somewhere new. Caroline knew he couldn't stay, so she let him go. He broke her heart leaving, and he wasn't there when the town turned on her. Too late, he returned. Acting with honor, he chose not to find her and bring shame on her again."

Lightfoot raised his hands. "How could he know what happened? That she lived with the loss of two men she dared to love, a scandal dogging her every step, and a life of brutal prostitution that awaited her? She was raised to be a good girl, a good woman, and everything she held dear was stripped away. Caroline Jamison was beaten, battered, abused, spit on, and forced to be something she'd been warned against her entire life. Can any of you say you'd keep your mind if this happened to you? Going from a respected man to living hand to mouth, not welcome anywhere?"

He sighed. "We've shown her mind blocks out the bad things. It's not a strong mind; you saw that when she testified. Just when she was coping with the grief of losing Cyrus, Chris Larabee ruined her. All this preyed on her mind while she was chased out of towns or selling her body to live. Forced to sell her body to live, and paying for it through pain and rough men. She's lying in a sick bed, fired from her only income, taken in by one of her customers, trying to recover. She reads a newspaper article about her husband's death, and it names the man responsible. Chris Larabee."

He pointed to Chris. "Unknowingly or not, that man's actions authored her misery. Caroline Jamison's hold on reality slips away. Somehow, she and Chris Larabee end up together, and he's shot. Her mind, like it's done so many times before, blocks out her memories of that morning. She believes she only stopped for directions. She believes she saw riders leaving. She told Mr. Tanner and Mr. Standish what her mind believed. Was it the truth? It was her truth."

The attorney faced the jury and Judge Travis. "And now we're here. Should a woman who has had everything taken from her – including her mind – hang for something that mind won't let her remember? I say no. Should she go to prison for the rest of her life? Again, I say no. An institution for the sick – maybe. If skilled doctors worked with her, perhaps she can recover. It's up to you fine people to determine if she's suffered enough, or must pay more for the repercussions of Chris Larabee's actions. Thank you."

"Lightfoot's tryin' fer an institution, giving Travis an option. Knows she's guilty."

"Everyone does," Chris replied to Vin. He didn't agree with the institution, but he wasn't hell-bent on her hanging. The guilt he felt at her near death had quadrupled; he'd never considered the consequences on the families by killing men that tried to kill him. How many widows were now working girls because their no-good man died from his bullets? How often would he now sleep with one eye open in case those widows sought revenge against him?

Almost like Vin was reading his mind, the tracker said, "She didn't have ta marry him. We don't know how he really treated her. Reckon some widows we've created are better off than with their beatin', drunk, mean men."

Chris stared at him.

"Gotta be practical, cowboy. 'Sides, ya didn't sleep with any other robber widows, right?"

"I hope not."

"We find her guilty, Your Honor."

Chris patted Josiah on the back, while Vin clapped Larabee gently on the shoulder.

"Caroline Jamison, this court will not hang you. Mr. Lightfoot suggested an institution. This court will not agree to that. You have suffered, but you do not have the right to ignore the law for your personal revenge. My colleague found the death of Cyrus Jamison justified. The matter of your husband's death was settled to the law's satisfaction. What happened after could not be considered just, but was not a crime."

Judge Travis glared at her. "The cruel method by which you shot Chris Larabee showed planning and forethought. Your leaving him to die showed malice. For that, no institution can help. Therefore, you are sentenced to life in Yuma prison. You leave in the morning. Court is adjourned."

Sheriff Stains let his head fall forward. Now they had the humiliation of another loss at this town because of the suckering of a woman. Taking his courage in his hand, he knew he had to even things out between him and Larabee. Having the towns at odds did not help anyone. He approached Chris, not surprised when the rest of his people fell in behind him, and the other peacekeepers got between him and the town's gunslinger.

"Larabee."

Chris stared.

"Reckon we don't like being made fools of a second time. She suckered us. You won't have any problems from Eagle Bend or its citizens."

"Appreciate that." Larabee bobbed his head.

"But don't you ever try and take another fugitive from our territory without letting us know. We might not help you if we don't think it's just, but we won't hinder you either." Stains held out his hand.

"Fair enough," Chris replied. He shook hands. "Same goes."

Stains nodded.

The Eagle Bend folk turned away, heading toward their horses.

"Stains," Chris called.

The sheriff walked back to stop in front of Chris. He waved the others to stay back.

"She got me worse, and I thought I knew her." Larabee cleared his throat. "At least I know I can count on you to keep things fair."

"Nothing like a good, fair fight. Care to have one?"

"When you're done licking your wounds," Chris retorted, allowing a sly grin he added, "and I'm done healing from mine."

Stains chuckled slightly, "There's a sideshow coming in a couple months. Maybe I'll see you there?"

"Maybe," Chris allowed.

The two men smiled at each other, then laughed. Stains tipped his hat and left town, leading the rest of the Eagle Bend contingent away.

Sharing a drink at the saloon, Chris seemed pensive. Vin studied him and said, "Long day. Guess yer old bones need rest."

Chris glared.

Vin smirked.

The gunslinger poured the last of the bottle into his glass, not offering to share or split it.

"Guess yer feelin' better."

"She doesn't deserve life in Yuma. It'll kill her."

"I hate the noose, but she deserves it. It would've been better."

Chris looked at him.

"We both know she planned it. No one asked where the stuff she drugged ya came from; didn't think of it. Someone she knows hired that Pinkerton fella ta find ya, and once he did, she came. She's crazy, but she's a smart crazy. Yuma's too good fer her."

"That's the longest I've heard you talk in weeks."

"No need ta get insultin'." Vin adopted an injured expression.

"Then I'll let you buy my drink in apology." Chris signaled for another round.

"Ya finished the bottle – yer payin'."

With a slow smile, Chris said, "Yeah, I am." The gunslinger set the money on the table and stood. He toasted Vin, finished the drink, and said goodnight.

"Thanks fer the drink. 'Fore ya leave, some advice."

Chris listened.

"Don't ponder it ta death."

Part Ten

It took him most of the night and half the morning to work up the courage to see her. Most of his hesitation came from having nothing to say. She was going to prison and that was that. Unfortunately, a small part of him still remembered the good times, making him marvel at how they reached this point. It had been a long and twisted road, more twisting for her than for him. Now, he had a family of sorts to stay with him through the bad times; she had a family that disowned her, and no one to really support her. Things were done here, justice was served, and he would close this chapter of his life.

Deep inside, he knew if he didn't say goodbye, things would never be finished in his mind. He walked slowly to the jail, excusing Nathan from the duty so he could talk to her alone, or at least try. He stood outside her cell, trying to figure out what he was feeling, asking himself why he was ever drawn to her; why he didn't see her flaws?

He said nothing; he couldn’t. There was nothing submissive in her posture, nor was there a warmth or friendliness. Chris marveled at how he once fell for this woman, even so recently as before she shot him. Whatever goodness that had been in her was long gone; what was left was not very attractive right now. Especially on that side of the bars.

Her eyes were cold while she stared back.

Neither spoke for long minutes.

"Have you looked your fill, Chris?" she asked. "Or should I say Mr. Larabee?" Mocking filled her tone. "Mr. Larabee, the tragic victim of this drama. No one cares about me. Do you care, Chris? Do I even rank one emotion with you?"

"I should hate you."

'Then you'd hate yourself, since you made me what I am."

"No."

She changed tactics. "What good is a person that breaks their word?"

"None."

"I kept my vow for vengeance and justice for my husband. What about yours? Have you found and gotten justice for your family's killers? Fulfilled your vow?"

"We're not talking about my vow."

"Aren't we? Didn't we both swear to find justice for our murdered families?"

He gave a short nod, remembering the night they both swore they would find who was responsible and take care of them. It was obvious now they both had different ideas of how to do that, different concepts of executing justice.

"I did what I said. You haven't."

At that, he spun on his boot heel and started to leave. There was no point to this; she wasn't sorry; she wasn't going to regret. The hate she built up in her mind would keep her poisoned to anything he tried to say. All she was doing was dredging up the memories of his failures in his quest and it only made him feel worse. He didn't need her creating problems and causing any more havoc in his life. It was done.

"Chris."

Her voice stopped him with his hand on the door about to leave. He shot a look at her over his shoulder, clearly ready to go.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine." The question stopped him, making him wonder where she was going with this line of questioning.

"No, you don't."

Chris lifted an eyebrow in question.

"In the darkest hours of the night, do the nightmares still come? Do you think of your regrets?"

He stayed silent, not willing to give her any ground to use against him.

"When those demons grab hold . . . and we both know they're mighty powerful, you'll think of me. Everything comes back to you. Your murder of Cyrus, your liaison with me, that kid that tried to kill you but shot me instead. Your reputation forever aligned with and ruining mine. And what did those years of hell bring you? I loved, I lost. You loved, you lost. To have love again would have been nice….but all that’s left is the hate . . . that’s all that will ever be.”

Letting go of the door handle, he turned to face her. "I don't hate you."

"Oh? What do you feel for me?"

He heard the curiosity in her voice, and answered her honestly. No need to disguise what was. "Pity."

Caroline flew at the bars, her hands reaching for him. When she couldn't touch him, she shook the bars. "You pity your creation." She started laughing hysterically.

He waited her out. "I didn't create what you've become. You made bad choices."

"I chose the least repugnant of my options. After all, your actions destroyed me. Not just once, but several times over. Judge Travis sentenced me to jail for the rest of my life. But what about you?"

"I'll live. Free."

"At what cost? That conscience and damnable sense of honor of yours rationalized your actions and let you shove me away, forget about me. During your long nights, you'll think of the wreckage you caused, and of me. You'll think 'what if' and the choices you made will haunt you. I can spend my years in prison content in knowing you'll be tormented the rest of your life by what you've done.

Chris said, "A few stray thoughts more than makes up for your lifetime in a cell. Just knowing you're there and can't hurt anyone else will help me sleep."

"And I'll haunt your dreams."

Chris felt liberated. She couldn't harm him now, and it was obvious she was losing her mind. He did feel sorry for her, but he didn't feel she would haunt his dreams. Nothing could be worse than the nightmares over the loss of his family that still plagued him from time to time. This experience provided him a lesson about himself, and on choices. He'd learn from it; he felt she wouldn't, but it wouldn't matter. He got the feeling she'd done her damage, said what she wanted to say in parting, and that was enough for her. The memory of what she did to him would sustain her until her mind was completely gone. He left her there without another word. No matter what happened to her in jail, she was content with what she had done to him.

Vin met him outside the saloon. "Buy ya a beer, cowboy?"

He nodded. They took their usual table, sipping in silence. The sounds of horses leaving reached his ears.

"There she goes," Vin said a short time later.

"Yup."

"Ya all right?"

"Yup."

The pair sat in silence for a time.

"Thanks for bringing her back," Chris said.

Vin inclined his head. "Reckoned ya wanted a trial."

"I did."

"With her mouth, dead would've been a mite better."

Chris managed a weak smile.

Silence ruled again, this time broken by the playing of cards.

"Don't hold yourself responsible, Chriss."

Larabee shot his friend an inquiring look.

"She chose ta marry that Cyrus fella, and he came ta one of the two ends he would've anyway. She's got a weak mind."

"I killed her husband."

"Law said the killin' was right."

"He's still dead."

"Yer feelin' guilty 'cause ya plugged a robber?"

"No."

"Or that ya fell fer her."

"Maybe."

"Ya couldn't control that kid, Chris. And ya couldn't stop the tongues waggin'. She coulda changed her name and started over, but she didn't. She couldn't let go of the past."

"She didn't."

"Nope. That brought her ta her current craziness. Don't blame yerself for her."

"Thanks." Chris leaned back in his chair. Vin did make sense; Caroline could have turned away from the destructive path she chose at any time. Sometimes, a friend saying what he already thought helped him deal with things. It was that lesson on choices again; life was what you made it. He was lucky enough to have six friends to keep those lessons fresh. And to show him he could live without hardening his heart against everyone.

From The Clarion Newspaper:

The Search Continues….

Two weeks have passed since the infamous Caroline Jamison escaped from Yuma Prison. No sign of the convicted criminal have been found since the discovery of her bound and gagged guards.

Caroline Jamison was tried and convicted for the attempted murder of town protector Chris Larabee. She was three months into her life sentence at Yuma Prison when she escaped. Town patrols doubled immediately, but Mr. Larabee believes the crazed woman will not return.

Caroline James - formerly Jamison - now Senora Lena James Suarez, reclined in the porch rocker. Beside her, a glass of cool lemonade kept her thirst slacked in the heat, and a large hat protected her face from the sun. All was right in her world.

Her darling husband Don Pedro Suarez had a sizeable estate and hacienda in Mexico, and he pampered her.

Best of all, he admired her commitment to vengeance and commission of crimes, having committed several of his own to become Don. In fact, when they met, he helped her plan her murder attempt. It was he who taught her to act loco, knowing that craziness combined with her story would keep her out of the hangman's noose. They married shortly after her 'release' from Yuma that he arranged. She swore she would never sleep with or touch another man but Don Pedro.

She owed him so much – he saved her from a life of prostitution, helped her plan her revenge, created a new identity for her, planned her escape just when the guards were getting used to her routines . . .her craziness inside the walls. He gave her back her respectability and her life. She ruled the local society; everyone wanted her approval. Here she found her peace; she didn't have to fear her past anymore. So what if during the course of this she did go a little crazy; did it truly matter anymore? People accepted her, her husband loved and valued her, and they let her do what she wanted. Things could be worse – she could still be in Yuma, or she'd still be working in that brothel. Life was much better, more like she felt she deserved.

Every once in a while, she thought about Chris Larabee, mostly to thank him for her current good fortunes. The disasters he caused in her life only brought her to this point. Who knew such hate and love could bring such happiness? She'd never see him again, so she could afford to be generous in her thoughts.

"To you, Chris Larabee," she whispered, holding up her lemonade in toast.

A month had passed since Caroline Jamison escaped. Chris stopped the doubled patrols, telling the townsfolk he truly believed she would not return. Their final conversation, replayed in his head over and over, told him she'd gotten her revenge. It was over.

Wherever she was, he hoped she was better. Part of him wanted her to suffer for her near killing him, but another wanted to finally find peace. It was a delicate balance, and only time would tell which way his heart and mind would go.

The only thing that remained the same was his reserve around women. He refused to let anyone close, and his dealings with Mary were coolly cordial. Beyond that, he planned to take his time before he could trust a woman again.

Now, he was preparing to go camping with Vin. This getaway would be very different than his last escape from town. He hoped.

END